


who you are, who i am.

by jeonginks



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, occasional 4th wall break by yours truly, stuck in another world oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeonginks/pseuds/jeonginks
Summary: when you find yourself waking up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much for you to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama, you know?
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96





	who you are, who i am.

You have had a fair share of envious moments before.

Whenever you see adorable and loving couples wandering across the streets, sharing a cold boba drink while letting their shared scarf do the deed of warming them up in the cold winter night. You want to gouge your eyes out to save yourself from the public display of chaste affection but at the same time, you cannot stop staring because if you stare long enough, you might just be able to replace the couple with you and the imaginary perfect boy in your head.

You have had a fair share of needy times before. Not just to fulfill the long list of guilty pleasures you could not possibly handle on your own, but also just to fall in love with. You want somebody to feel up against, to hold close to, to remember, and laugh to yourself about when you are going about your daily life.

And for sure, you have prayed for a significant other at one time or another; discreetly whispering towards the birthday candles and the new year’s fireworks. For years, the odds were not in your favor, until at this exact moment when you opened your eyes after long hours of sleep you could not remember yourself ever heading to.

The sunlight was seeping through the white mesh curtains that mirrored the fabric of an expensive wedding gown, the one that makes you gasp in awe at the bride when she wears it down the aisle. It did nothing to help with the glaring morning gaze but you could understand why people would buy it as a decoration. Those useless and overpriced curtains, no matter what, do give the room a whimsical atmosphere.

If only you ever got one.

The second you laid eyes on those mesh curtains, your eyes snapped open and the grogginess you felt from just waking up vanished immediately. Those were not yours. No, definitely not. You would not be caught dead spending hundreds of dollars buying a home decoration that serves no purpose other than looking pretty.

You clenched your bedsheet and you gasped in both shock and awe. Talk about the softest bed sheets you have ever felt? The blanket covering your, thankfully, fully-clothed body felt like silk yet the material was thick enough to make you feel warm like you were taking a steamy hot shower and make you sleep like you were in a coma.

But the same thing applied: these bedsheets never belonged to you and possibly never will.

“Oh god,” you breathed out in a whisper as your eyes rolled around the unfamiliar room.

You were stalling at this point. The heavy presence laying next to you was far too obvious for you to ignore but you were also too afraid to look. Who could it be? You hadn’t an idea of who the person next to you could be! You couldn’t even recall exactly what happened last night! Did you make any plans? That would be extremely unlikely. You’ve got no friends who would invite you anywhere and you’ve got no motivation to go anywhere but back to your home!

But nothing else could explain the current situation you’ve gotten yourself in, nothing but you getting very drunk and possibly handing all that was sacred about you to a complete stranger

Slowly turning your head to the side, you let your squinted eyes fall open slowly for the big reveal. The man sleeping next to you had his body turned towards your side. His lashes fluttered even when he was unmoving and his brown locks fell just above his closed eyes in the most boyish, attractive way possible. The bridge of his nose arched perfectly to welcome to button tip, and his lips have a natural pout to them and they somehow appeared to be glittery under the sunlight.

Oh yeah, pretty sure this man was very drunk too because no way in hell would he ever want to have anything to do with you. Certainly.

You stared at the man for a brief moment. Your internal thoughts went through all five stages of confusion, with all first four of them being pure confusion and the last stage being acceptance. You felt like you opened the third eye after the stage of acceptance and you have never felt smarter than before. This should have been your first instinct. What else should you have done when you wake up to find yourself sleeping next to one of, if not the most, handsome man you’ve seen on Earth?

After giving your mind a nod of approval for creating such a beautiful man, you turned on your back and closed your eyes. You went back to sleep because, obviously, this was just a lucid dream.

I would let you think you were smart for a moment, (Name), but I do believe it is about time we progress with the story and learn about who was the man of your dreams.

You jolted awake as if you just had a nightmare, which you did not. Your body just wanted to keep you awake, it seemed. It was as if it knew you were not in the right place, like you were in a place you have never been to before, and it wanted you to stand up and discover an escape route. Sighing in defeat, your eyes blinked at the unfamiliar room you had gotten a glimpse of before you concluded that you were in a dream.

Turning your head to the side, your eyes welcomed the sight of the man you had previously admired. The only difference this time was that he was very much awake and was blatantly staring at you with a look of utter distaste that felt more common than ever. He was not the first person to give you that unamused frown and wickedly condescending gaze but it really did add more impact to it when it came from someone as good-looking as him.

“What the fuck?” You muttered out with a hasty, croaked voice.

Minho tilted his head to the side at your obnoxious reaction, then he spoke, “Why are you on my bed?”

You furrowed your brows at him, both at how nice his voice was early in the morning and in confusion to the fact that he asked you the million-dollar question. Breathing out a short laugh, you looked away from him, “I don’t know, man. I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything aside from the rules we established the first day of our marriage,” he wasted no time to say, his tone getting duller and duller as if he was really getting mad over you being on his king-sized bed.

“Marriage… wow, you’re funny,” you rolled your eyes as you reached your hand up to scratch your head.

Upon the subject at hand, it was slowly coming to light the faint weight that has been resting on your fourth finger and was completely neglected by your confused state of mind. Your scratching slowly came to a stop and, stalling time once again, you turned over to look at the stranger who was still staring at you with distaste.

“Are we married?” You asked, “The thing I am feeling on my finger is not a ring, is it?”

Minho’s gaze shifted for a moment. You seemed genuinely confused, out of your usual element if he could say so himself. Truth be told, he never really paid that much attention to you. He did once in a blue moon, but never enough to stick in his head. But he could definitely tell when you weren’t being yourself; when you didn’t feel like you.

“Don’t joke around with me, (Name),” he said when he regained his usual demeanor. The theory he thought about was discarded with ease; there was absolutely no way something so fiction-like could ever happen to him. The arranged marriage aside, of course.

“How the hell did you get my name?” You asked slowly, finally sitting up now that this situation was becoming creepier. Your legs left the soft blanket and were ready to bolt out of the room for good. “I don’t even know yours.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said, sitting up as well, “Stop messing around, (Name). Just admit that you broke the rules and slept on my bed. This amnesia act is a waste of my time.”

You squinted your eyes at him, jaw hung open in utter disbelief, “Dude! I don’t fucking know who you are? Am I supposed to just guess your name? Like what–fucking Lee Minho or some shit?”

He showed you a deadpan expression immediately after your voice fell. Judging by the way his shoulders dropped in annoyance, you knew for a fact that you had guessed his name correctly. You cursed under your breath then, recognizing how your luck was completely working against your favor this time.

“I–I gotta go, I have to leave!”

You let the anxiety inside your body do the job as you stumbled back and out of the bedroom. You were immediately greeted with a long and bright hallway that looked way too familiar for you to not be able to navigate around it.

It looked like a house straight out of a drama! With the opened curtains, the velvet carpet, the random Chinese vases located in the awkward middle, and the giant wooden patterned doors—oh god, were you on secret camera right now? Did you sign some ten-page long contract you never took the time to read?

Moving to a random direction of the hallway, you grabbed the handle of the next door you could find and opened it to head inside. The lights automatically turned on when it noticed a presence, and you found yourself in what appeared to be a walk-in closet.

It was a black and white, very minimalistic color scheme. Clothing racks lined up against the wall and eventually met each other at the end, where a tall mirror stood waiting to be used. There was a door that you guessed might lead to a bathroom and a few shelves of expensive perfume and shoes. Sitting oddly in the middle was a small round desk and a cushioned chair.

You grimaced at how obnoxious and luxurious the closet was. It was everything you could have dreamed of having, really, but the idea of actually spending that much money made your skin all itchy and irritated.

Oh, (Name), what are you doing? You have got no time to give criticism to a rich person’s closet! You have got to figure out what the fresh hell was happening!

“Oh, this makes no sense,” you clicked your feet against the carpet floor before you started to pace around.

Marriage? Minho knowing your name yet you needed to guess his name? This foreign rich land you stumbled upon? There were only four solutions you could think of after having rethink every single detail.

Exhibit A: This is still a dream.

You slapped yourself after much preparation. The pain stung you like your bare hand to a burning stove. This is not a dream, it has never been.

Exhibit B: This is a television prank.

Your drama-loving, variety-show-watching freak would definitely be able to tell. Each pranking show has its distinct element to the way they execute their plan—from the setting to their actors to their fake scenarios. This was far too obvious and far too risky for any pranking show you have watched. You could cross the option off the chalkboard!

Exhibit C: Minho is madly in love with you and has kidnapped you to be his spouse!

Interesting. Unbelievable. Why would someone like him need to kidnap you to keep you with him? With that face and this kind of money? You would have caved within seconds judging by how shallow your heart could be sometimes. Besides, why would someone like you intrigue him? No way. This option is off the chalkboard too!

Well. That left your last resort, I suppose. May I proudly present you—Exhibit D!

The door to the closet swung open, abruptly disrupting the deep-voiced narrator in your head and pulling you back into the real world… as real as it could get, at least. Snapping your head to the side, you were greeted with an unamused Minho by the doorway and your frown deepened at his unwelcoming presence.

“Why are you in my closet?” He asked, approaching you slowly, “Do we need to have another talk about boundaries?”

You blinked at him. Not confused, but annoyed with disbelief. On second thought, you were better than this asshole! You would never agree to marry someone with this kind of shitty attitude! Exhibit C is back in the race, perfect!

“Did you kidnap me?” You asked with no reluctance.

Minho tilted his head at you, bewildered but not enough to lose his stoic expression, “Kidnap you? Why would I do that? You are the one head over heels for me ever since we got married.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you snorted loudly as you pulled away from him. Then you pointed a finger at him, wanting to spat something with menace but you were stopped immediately by the diamond ring on your fourth finger.

Oh, that—that is heavy as hell. How did you not feel it? You wanted to take it off and keep it in a glass box for display the second you laid your eyes on it.

“Did you force this on me?” You asked, pointing at the ring. Your eyes shifted slightly to glance at it and they widened on instinct. You couldn’t even begin to guess how expensive that piece of rock is and having it weighing down on your fourth finger felt like too much responsibility. “You freak, how much did you pay for this?”

Minho shook his head, bewildered at the sudden question fired towards him, “About five hundred–“

You held up your hands. That number was all you needed to know. Judging from the way he was still trying to speak, the ring was definitely not just a mere five hundred dollars. And be it the word ‘thousand’ or ‘million,’ whichever comes out of his mouth would still make you fake barf and your heart pour blood. The only thing you could feel remotely glad about was the fact that he bought the rings, at least.

“Also, for your information, I did not force the ring on you. We both agreed to get married. Besides, I didn’t need to,“ he replied, "Our parents did.”

"Our parents–my mom and dad will never force me to marry anybody even though that is all they ever urge me to do!”

”(Name).“

Oh? That was interesting. For once, Minho’s deep and quiet voice was laced with something other than spite. His eyes were solemnly melancholic—they dropped like shadows as he gazed at you carefully. Without moving an inch, he spoke, ”(Name), your parents have been dead for almost a year.“

Dead parents. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a trope you could work with. At least it has got the capability of bringing your theory somewhere, maybe on a path to insanity but still a route nonetheless.

Let us humbly do a recap of everything that went down. A big house. A rich man, a rich and handsome man, a rich and handsome man who hates you, a rich and handsome man who hates you because you two were stuck in an arranged marriage. Dead parents.

"Oh my god,” you gasped under your breath as the reality dawned upon your once clueless mind. Everything was so clear after you figured out all the key elements, it almost felt like you could calculate the physics of the parallel universe and the meaning of existence!

You are stuck in a drama!

* * *

After some wild stumbling about in Minho’s big mansion, all thanks to your pride preventing you from asking him the exact location of ‘your’ closet, you finally found the fashion wonderland you were looking for—your walk-in closet, that was somehow separated from Minho’s even though you two were supposedly holding hands in marriage.

Bursting through the door, the lights automatically turning on in here as well, you gave yourself no time to admire the inner structure of how the closet was built and decorated and instead, you immediately went for the first mirror you could find, which was just hanging on the wall above a little table.

You heaved a short sigh when you recognized your own face and body in the mirror. That fact alone reinforced the drama theory you’ve got spinning in your head. If you were to not look like yourself, there would be a possibility that your soul got switched with someone else’s and you were actually still stuck in real life. However, the person you were looking at in the mirror was you in the flesh, therefore this was not a soul-switching experience but a teleportation experience.

You got stuck in a drama. Yeah, that was it. That was your answer. But why? Flipping through the television department of your memory, not once could you remember yourself ever going through anything that happened to protagonists who were teleported somewhere else.

You weren’t almost hit by a car, you didn’t almost freeze to death, you didn’t almost drown in the ocean—oh there, wait a minute, (Name). Did you see the pattern? The key to the sequence is not a near-death experience. The key to all of these is only the 'near’ of the experience, not necessarily the 'death’ part of it!

“But that makes no sense?” You mumbled to yourself as you tried your best to remember what you were doing before you woke up next to Minho, but it was to no avail. All you could remember was falling asleep on a phone call with your friend. “Everyone almost does something all the time! How do you determine which one is significant?”

Marching over to pick up a random pair of shoes from the shelf, you raised it high in mid-air and let go of it. Before it could hit the ground, you immediately caught the shoes again, then you looked around the place with the most paranoid eyes, "Oh, oops, I almost dropped these shoes!”

Nothing happened. The only thing that welcomed you were the static in the air and the realization of your stupidity.

Alright. Perhaps the ‘death’ part of it is, in fact, necessary after all.

Putting the shoes back, you puffed out some air to replace a frown that would inevitably help you gain more wrinkles than needed. Walking back to the table, you stared at yourself in the mirror and gave yourself a few pinches here and there. Both to make sure you were not dreaming and to give yourself some encouragement that things would turn out fine somehow.

One thing you did come to realize after the momentary idiotic trance you got stuck in was that while you were stuck in a drama (at least a universe that seemed to act on its principles), you were also taking the place of someone else’s life. Your position belonged to a character once, you just came in and took their place. You still looked like you, for some reason, but this position was not yours to freely maneuver.

You’ve got to be careful. You have absolutely no idea when you would magically disappear from this place, and you would hate to have someone pick up your pieces.

“Just live for now and don’t fuck up this one,” you told yourself lazily, grimacing at the fact that you might have to comply with what Minho says from now on because, judging from what he said, your character was in love with him.

Great. Now that the troubles were all set aside. It was finally time for you to bask in the big, extravagant closet of your dreams. You turned around and beamed at the clothes that lined up the walls and at the shoes all carefully placed in a row.

Making your way to the other side of the room, skipping with your bare feet happily, you quickly made your way across the room. All that excitement only to have you trip on your own feet and fall forward. Your eyes widened in shock, your mouth hanging open to let out a small scream.

Your head banged against the wooden column that held up the clothing rack, and immediately you blacked out.

* * *

Opening your eyes might have become quite the scare for you now.

Oh, how horrible it would be if you found yourself waking up next to a handsome man who happened to be your husband and also does not love you whatsoever but is extremely rich and is putting a roof over your head? You sniffed in distaste. You weren’t one for gold diggers. Money was never a big problem for you, loneliness and the lack of intimacy were. Not that you would outrightly acknowledge it, though.

The room was different than the one you woke up in, which was no surprise. It was just as big as Minho’s bedroom—one which you suspected if the original ‘you’ have ever seen it before you barged in and stayed the night—but it had a more natural tone than Minho’s royal-like room.

Holding your palm to your forehead, you winced in shock at the bumpy surface on your skin. You did remember tripping and falling head-on against the clothing rack but you did not think it would create that much damage. All you thought would happen was a small red spot and eternal suffering of you acknowledging how stupidly clumsy you were.

Aside from that, at least you gained a little information about yourself: you trip easy, you faint easy, and you scar easy.

Great; a romantic drama protagonist material.

Your feet touched the cold ground. Surprisingly, there were no fluffy slippers for your feet to slip into. You got out of your bed and immediately went out to the hall in hopes to search for someone, anyone. There has got to be a soul working in this mansion. You could not have possibly smeared vaseline on your forehead and tucked yourself back into bed in a state of unconsciousness.

The atmosphere was eerie as you made your way down the hall. The sound of your bare feet tapping against the carpet could be heard in this quiet house and for once, you thought perhaps having such a giant home was not the best idea in the world. It has got you missing your small and cozy apartment where most things were within reach and sight.

“Oh, I see you’ve woken up!”

You flinched at the sudden voice, albeit it being very gentle and harmless. Turning around, you found a middle-aged lady dressed in casual clothes and holding a basket of crumpled up clothes. Not wanting to act too suspicious and out of character, you gave her a small smile as you accessed her figure as quickly as you could.

She was not wearing one of those maid costumes, which was not surprising but disappointing. You were hoping to see an actual maid in a rich household just to experience that drama dream you’ve got stored in your head. But looking at the laundry basket she was holding, you were pretty sure she was only here to do the chores and she would laugh once the day gets darker.

“Um… yeah, I have,” you replied to her as your hand reached out to softly touch the nasty bump on your forehead. You grimaced a little at the texture before you looked back at the lady, “Uh, is–is dinner ready?”

She nodded her head with a faint laugh, happy to know you haven’t lost your perception of time yet. Nudging her head to the end of the hallway, she said, “Mr.Lee went and bought home some takeout from your favorite restaurant after he got off work. They are in the kitchen if you are feeling hungry.”

You arched your brows pleasantly. Alright, that was very nice of him. You would most likely thank him when you see him later but honestly, that would depend on your mood and how he would act when you two do see each other again.

“Okay, thank you very much,” you nodded at her with gratitude, mirroring her hushed voice with no ill intention, “And thank you for fixing my head and tucking me to bed.”

“Of course, it is what I’m supposed to do,” she smiled, “But Mr.Lee was the one who brought you back to your bed. That was not me.”

You blinked at her in bewilderment, unsure as to why you decided to give her the look of confusion when she would not be able to answer any of your questions. The inside of your chest fluttered just a little at the idea of someone hoisting you up bridal-style and putting you back to bed, but you knew you were just dramatizing it because Minho did not seem like the type to fit under the romantic category. Nonetheless, you were flustered at the idea of it. It was the first time someone has held you up like that since your father years and years ago.

“O–oh, that is…” you cleared your throat and your mind, then you looked up at the lady with a smile, “Um… is he home? I want to go thank him.”

“He is,” she nodded, “I believe he is just in his office room.”

Great. Location unlocked! Now the real problem would be how to get there.

“Thank you, I will just get going now,” you bowed slightly before you quickly spun on your heels and left the hallway.

After some more trials of opening doors that lead you to empty bathrooms and empty guest bedrooms, you were starting to hate this house more and more. At this point, you wouldn’t get a big home even if you’ve got all the money in the world. The hatred and annoyance have rooted too deep in your brain, you have automatically crossed your castle dreams off the bucket list.

Your feet tapped quickly against the carpet so your legs could take you down the hall and to the next doors quickly. Letting out a frustrated groan, you grabbed the door handle as soon as the door was in reach and you twisted it open to reveal a rather embarrassing sight of Minho and a girl being all over him near the edge of his desk.

You couldn’t decipher whether this position was reciprocal. It was amazing that your brain could even function logically enough to think that perhaps Minho didn’t want to be stuck in this position. But the panic immediately surfaced when you dodged the girl’s annoyed eyes and instead looked straight into Minho’s shocked ones.

Your jaw dropped open slowly at the sight in front of you as if you were just looking at it for the first time. Then, for some stupid reason, you reached your hands up to your face and quickly smacked the heel of your palm to your eyes. Your back arched at the impact and you started wailing in pain.

Minho looked startled for a moment. His instincts told him to stand up straight and approach you to check and see if the fall this morning was more serious than he assumed it to be. But before he could listen to his heart, your incoherent wailing started to turn into audible words.

“Oh! My eyes! I cannot see! I have not seen a thing, I wonder where Minho is at the moment?” You let your hands go free around the air and kept your eyes shut tightly to act blind.

His lips quirked up in amusement, but the amusement was quickly diminished when the girl who just recently tried to lure him into a deceptive make-out session spoke.

“What the hell is your problem?” She asked out loud, possibly glaring at you but you could not see nor do you care.

However, you did almost let a gasp past your lips because oh my lord, the audacity of this woman! Did she see no problem in seducing a married man? An unhappily married man but a married, ring on the finger, contract signed man nonetheless!

As much as you didn’t like Minho, the concept of adultery is absolutely preposterous! You were thinking in big words just so you could emphasis how much you hate the act of cheating!

“It seems like somebody is being unfaithful and I am trying to make sure I don’t make a memory of it,” you replied with your eyes still shut and your body turned at the wrong person. When there was only silence, you muttered to yourself, “God, I hope amnesia happens when I leave this world. This is not a good sight to remember for them.”

Minho furrowed his eyebrows at you after your answer. Surely, you wouldn’t accuse him of cheating? You barged in at the wrong time, you didn’t even try to understand the situation from his perspective. His arms were crossed in front of his chest to create a more dominant stance before he commanded, “(Name), open your eyes.”

You sniffed the tense air before you shook your head, “No, thanks. I would but again, I am trying not to make a memory of this–”

“(Name), I said open your goddamn eyes!” Minho repeated louder once again. He marched over to you and, impulsively, gripped a stronghold of your chin to tilt your head up. “I said look at me!”

You snapped your eyes open at the forceful tug, a strangled noise bursting from your throat at his violent action. You weren’t scared, no, not at all. You were angry, mad, annoyed.

Your hand reached out to grip his wrist and you squeezed tightly until Minho showed a small sign of discomfort on his face. Your brows furrowed and your eyes flashed with cruel disbelief as you glared at him. Pulling his hand away from you, you croaked out, “You treat them like this?”

Minho looked confused. Them? What did you mean? Who were you referring to? Before he could open his mouth to ask, you took a step back and glared pointedly at him. There were droplets in your eyes that you were unable to hide completely. After all, nobody has ever treated you this roughly before. But the more visible part of your hooded eyes was the contempt that Minho has never seen from you before.

You felt like a completely different person to him for a second.

“How could anyone ever love you like this?” You fired the rhetorical question at him, and like a bullet, your words pierced through his vulnerability like poison.

He was rendered speechless at your words. All he could do was cast his gaze down at the floor and think about your words. You, taking the silence as an opportunity, glanced back at the girl who stood quietly behind Minho. She didn’t quite return your gaze, possibly shocked to hear such harsh and defensive words coming out of your mouth. Not that you cared about what she thinks, though.

You rolled your eyes slightly before you turned and left the room. All thoughts to thank him earlier vanishing in thin air, and it would take quite the journey before they come back to you.

* * *

You stomped to the living room and into the kitchen. The subtle change from the carpet floor to the marble tiles was magnified under the pressure of your feet. The cold didn’t even bother you that much, your mind was too occupied with the previous event involving Minho.

As soon as you walked into the open kitchen, you found a milk-colored paper bag sitting at the edge of the countertop with a name printed in the middle in a pretty, cursive font. Your eyes softened for a moment when you acknowledged that the bag contained the food Minho went and got for you, but the softness lasted only a millisecond as your mind repeatedly recalled the incident seconds ago.

Anger filled your eyes like an ocean. Who was he to do that? If he had let you go like a normal person and not pull that violent stunt on you, you would have never been this riled up. You didn’t care that he was cheating, it wasn’t like he was cheating on you per se. You cared that he thought it was okay to just grab you (or ‘you’) like that.

Turning away from the takeout bag. Instead, you approached the refrigerator and opened it to search for some eggs and meat so you could cook a meal just like you used to do when you finally run out of instant noodle packs to boil. After taking out the necessary ingredients, you searched through the cabinets to find a pan to use but it was to no avail. Everything was either bowls and plates or more salt and sugar.

A frustrated huff escaped your lips, your cheeks puffing out and you gritted your teeth before you slammed the cabinet door shut. You stood up from the ground with a curse under your lips and your hands on your hips. With the light sweat on your forehead and your unsightly floral pajama set, (Name), you do look like someone’s grandparent at the moment.

Footsteps made you avert your attention from the hiding pan to where the sound came from. Stumbling into your sight was the girl you just saw, with Minho following shortly behind her. You met eyes with him first, and despite wanting to peel your eyes away from him, you held onto his gaze challengingly to make a point.

He was right. You were not you anymore.

Turning around to look at the eggs and frozen meat you set on the kitchen counter, you stared at it as if contemplating your next move, then you turned back to the two with a shrug, “Do you know where the pan is?”

“What do you need it for?” Minho asked.

“Cooking,” you replied curtly, your lips quirking up in disbelief at him.

“I bought the food already.”

“I don’t want it. Tell me where the pan is,” you made a beckoning gesture with your hand.

“You don’t even know how to cook,” the girl interjected, her brows furrowing slightly at your vindictive tone as she assumed your poor attitude here was to compensate for what you just saw of her and Minho.

“I can learn,” you looked over at her pointedly, your eyes scratching fire on her skin and she instantly looked taken back by your gaze. Glaring back at Minho, you waited for him to answer your question for a few seconds. You didn’t know if he simply refused to tell you anything or if he didn’t know either, but you snapped either way as your patience reached its limit.

Widening your eyes at him in disbelief, you exclaimed, “Just tell me where the fucking pan is so I can make myself dinner!”

Now even Minho looked startled. You narrowed your eyes at him then, trying to piece together exactly who you used to be before this soul-switching event happened. Judging from how shocked both him and the girl were, you must have been one mellow and kind person. Of course, it was not to say you weren’t a kind and gentle person. Minho just had not done anything to deserve it yet, and you would not be the person to give it to him when he didn’t deserve it.

“God, I asked a simple question,” you rolled your eyes with a scoff. Running a hand through your hair, you waved your hands in front o your chest in a dismissive manner as you moved from your spot to head out of the kitchen.

Minho watched as you stomped out of the kitchen. When you brushed past him, he wanted to reach his hand out to stop you from leaving. For what reason? He could not conclude. He wanted to answer your question, he wanted to ask you to clarify a few things, starting from what happened to you, he wanted to urge you to calm down. Mostly, he just wanted to apologize for what he just did to you.

But his muscles were rigid and his eyes heart hollowed when you turned to your moving figure. Your words echoed in his head over and over again. _How could anyone ever love you like this? How could anyone ever love you like this, Minho? How?_

The sound of a door slamming could be heard all the way from where he stood. Minho licked his lower lip slowly in realization, a realization that relied on a mere assumption of his. It could explain your sudden change of attitude, at least. The thought jolted his mind awake and he turned around, preparing to leave the kitchen and go after you for answers.

Have you stopped loving him? Or, judging by those words, have you ever loved him?

“Wait, Minho, they’re mad at you–“

“I know.”

“So don’t go. They wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway.”

“I can’t, Yuna,“ Minho carefully moved his hand out of her grasp, “I need to talk to them about something important.”

“You can always wait a while, Minho,” she tugged onto his arm again, “You should let them cool off, really. How about we sit down and eat?”

Minho paused to consider the suggestion. You were angry, he could tell by the stomping and the glaring and the cursing. But somehow, that only made him want to ‘resolve’ the situation even more. It felt as if there was a clock hanging above your head, counting down each second of him stalling and not talking about what happened, and when the clock ticks zero it would be too late for him.

(It should have been too late for him ages ago, but ‘you’ had been patient, far too patient with him.)

“I can’t, I have to go talk to them now,” he replied and once again moved his arm away. This time, he quickly took a few steps away so he could be out of reach. He gave Yuna a short smile, “Go home, okay? Text me when you get back safely.”

Yuna watched with slumped shoulders as Minho quickly made his way up the stairs and disappeared into the hallway. Her lips pursed, confused and disappointed.

She has liked Minho for as long as she could remember now. As horrible as the arranged marriage news was to her, Minho has never expressed a fondness for you and that he has never shown any form of attachment towards his arranged marriage.

If anything, he has been nothing but spoiled and distant when it came to you. It was only because of that. That was the only reason why she reacted well with the marriage and that her love-struck mind deemed it moral to try and snatch Minho away from you.

But why? Why was Minho so caught up now?

Yuna ran a hand through her long, silky hair. She took a short glance around the kitchen, her eyes settling on the takeout dinner. She gulped nervously. Before she left the house, she grabbed the food with her.

* * *

You were too caught up in your thoughts to hear the doors to the closet opening. Your head was lowered to stare at the ground visible between your crossed legs, one of your hand was at the mercy of your nail-biting habit while the other one was clenched into a tight fist and resting on top of your ankle. You were hunched in the middle of your enormous closet, mumbling out your thoughts.

Your initial goal was to live this life of yours as minimalistic as you could. You were not going to destroy this person’s life, you were not going to destroy their relationships and definitely not their marriage. For as long as you would be here, you would try to go along pretending like you were somebody else; when you finally leave this drama, you would hand this life back to the original ‘you’ like they had never left before!

Your goal was facing a bit of an intrusion—Lee Minho.

Who was he to be so rough with his spouse? What was his problem? Not to mention that incident was not the only bad example you could raise, there were so many more things about him that was just… unlikely and unfathomable! You were considering whether you want to do the deed and just cut all ties with Minho.

He was not good for you, and the original you were probably too in love to see that! Therefore, you would be more than happy to help them get out of this situation, even though it might hurt them a little in the short run.

“What are you mumbling about, (Name)?” Minho asked as he knelt on one knee in front of your hunched figure.

You snapped your head up and immediately, your thoughtful eyes turned into a glare, “None of your business.”

His expression did not waver, and you scoffed, “What the hell are you doing here? You can’t be checking up on me, can you?”

“Why can’t I be?” Minho tilted his head to the side.

“Because you are an asshole, Minho,” you rolled your eyes, finally having the sense to scoot away from him. You sat up straight now, still glaring at him but the tension in your muscles has slightly relaxed upon seeing his rather softly stoic gaze. “Seriously. What do you want?”

“Checking up on you,” he replied, “What are you doing in the closet out of all places?”

“I love this closet,” you shrugged and turned to the side, facing the light around the mirror on your table, “It is quiet. It helps me think.”

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his eyes never leaving you as if he was trying to catch every single detail of your movement.

You didn’t answer for a moment, your eyes boring holes into the wooden desk. When you finally did, you have already made a difficult decision in your head, and you were completely ready to execute it.

“I am deciding if I have ever loved you. It seems like I haven’t,” you told him with a neutral expression as if you were spilling nothing but information that contained no emotional destruction within them. “Maybe I did, but I certainly don’t now.”

Minho’s mind blanked out. The only thing that was circulating his head were your words, and he didn’t understand why they hurt him so much. He, too, knew he had been distant and cruel to you most of the marriage. There was absolutely no reason for him or anybody else to believe he would ever be sad if the marriage breaks up somehow. But he was hurting. Hearing you confess your lack of endearment stung him like a needle to the skin.

Immediately putting on a facade, Minho raised an eyebrow and he leaned away a little, “Really? Well, what do you suggest we do then?”

You blinked at his cooperative response. This was going too well for your liking, but perhaps your fate had decided to finally be nice to you for once. Shrugging at him, you spoke, “What else can we do, Minho? Let’s talk divorce.”

His heart jumped at the word but his face controlled all that he could express. The jump was not hectic enough for him to burst out of his usual character yet. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Minho smirked with a laugh, “Yeah, right. Why would the people who forced us together agree to separate us?”

It was your turn to laugh now. “Oh, Minho,” you said, “There isn’t much you know about arranged marriages, do you?”

He furrowed his brows at you in confusion, and for once you finally let your guard down. Standing up, you urged him to do the same as you walked over to the door, “Come on. I’ll cook us some food and we’ll talk about it together.”

“Like I said, I already got food,” Minho rolled his eyes as he stood up and followed suit behind you, his heart still beating fast.

You glanced down at your slippers and hummed. You didn’t hate him now. Having some good, expensive food and talking about the shining end to your marriage sounded like a very great end. Turning to look behind your shoulder, you nodded at him, “Alright then. Let’s see what you got.”

If all goes as you assumed, you were almost one hundred percent sure his mother hates your guts. The way to a perfect divorce would be through the male protagonists’ snobby and obnoxious mother.

* * *

You waited anxiously in the extravagant coffee house. It was a place for flower teas in floral China cups and overpriced cupcakes stacked in the shape of a fountain, and you felt heavily out of place even with the expensive clothes you were wearing.

The mini conversation you had with Minho last night was a never-ending cycle of you trying to explain divorce to him and him shooting down all the possibilities you pull out of your pocket. He was defending this marriage like he wanted to keep it, and strangely, you would not be surprised that he did. After all, Minho could very well be that male character who is just stoic on the outside but is actually very sensitive on the inside.

However, that was none of your businesses. Who Minho is on the inside should not matter to you whatsoever. It poses no value to you if all he ever does is hide that part of him and mask himself with a terrible facade.

An asshole with a secretly good heart is still just an asshole if they never show how good they can be.

You have made the goal to divorce him, and that would be set until he decided to show a change of heart somewhere in between.

"Oh! There you are!”

An auntie-like voice jolted you out of your nervous state of mind, and you moved your eyes to find an old lady pulling out the chair before you and sitting down. She wore minimal makeup on her face, just enough to make her wrinkly skin still shine over her old age. Her clothes were tacky but they had an expensive taste to them, so you supposed you couldn’t really complain much.

“Oh, I am so sorry for being late!” She said, “I hope you haven’t been here for too long.”

“No, I just got here five minutes ago,” you shrugged dismissively, your eyes too focused on watching her movement.

She who sat before you was none other than Minho’s mother, or so you thought who would be the bitch of the century. But everything she showed was against your normal drama characterizations—no tense shoulders, no frown, no condescending gaze, no gold-digging tendencies.

Instead, her eyes were warm as they glanced at you as if you were a long lost child of hers. She was more polite than ever as she explained why she was late for this supposed divorce conference you planned. This was completely unexpected, you weren’t sure how to react now that the possibility of not being able to bring up a divorce has risen.

“Do you know what you want to order?”

You blinked a few times at her and glanced down at the menu. You haven’t gotten the time to look at it, but it felt like you would lose your appetite as soon as you look at the prices printed on the menu. Picking up the menu, you gave her a faint smile and opened the booklet with a thick velvet cover.

You laughed a little at yourself. There were no prices labeled. Of course. Rich people need not know how much things cost, those irresponsible midgets only pay.

“I will get the green tea cake, it is my favorite,” she mentioned suddenly, finally setting down the menu.

“Oh, really? Then I guess I should try that out too,” you quickly followed suit, not really bothering to decide what you feel like consuming as you were already too busy thinking of what to do with your plan.

“Okay great! Let me call the waiter over!”

You smiled at her blindly, still not paying any attention to your surroundings. Oh, you have caught yourself on another stump, (Name). While still wanting a divorce—oh god, this word would not be leaving your mind anytime sooner—you were starting to think perhaps Minho’s sweet mother would not be the easiest way to signing the papers. She doesn’t seem to hate you at all, which only served as a disadvantage to you in this situation.

You hummed. There was that. But just because she really liked you wouldn’t mean you couldn’t take to her about wanting to end a marriage with her son. Perhaps a more civilized conversation could be held where you two could talk the arranged marriage over like actual adults and she would most likely convince you to rethink your decision more carefully.

It was not the path you were hoping to cross but it would still be a path with a result at the end, so you supposed there would be no harm in toning down your inner turmoil just the slightest and be honest about what you want.

“So! What is it that you want to talk to me about?”

A lot of things are easier said than done. I am pretty sure you knew that fairly well with your twenty-one years of experience on the Earth.

“I… uh…” you clenched your fists and squinted your eyes uncomfortably. The way you kept reminding yourself to ‘be honest’ did nothing to your feelings.

Minho’s mother tilted her head to the side as her forehead creased with confusion. It was an expression she has never seen you have before, an expression that looked as if you were holding something back because you had something bad to say. To her knowledge, you never needed to say anything bad enough that it punches your moral dilemma in the gut. Not to her, at least.

Not even when it was about her son, she knew.

“Is it about Minho again–“

“I want a divorce.”

The second your voice dropped, as did her expression. You couldn’t look at her and the striking remorse was baffling you. None of this was your fault, nor have you ever spend enough time to develop a bond with Minho’s mother, so why should you feel bad about telling her you wanted to leave her son?

A look of realization was apparent in her overall troubled expression. Her eyes sparking a hint of light as it dawned on her that Minho has finally done something that reached and crossed the breaking point for you, and it has finally tempted you to properly ask for a divorce. After the sudden startlement came, a wave of tranquility as if she already knew this would happen sooner or later.

“We can’t do that,” was all she told you.

“Minho already told me about everything when I discussed this yesterday with him,” you pressed on carefully, “Legally, I still can.”

She gave you a faint look of surprise, possibly from hearing that you and Minho had already talked this over. Then she sighed with a shook of her head, “If you two do get a divorce, there would be no reason for my husband to continue sponsoring your father’s company and keep it going. Your father’s legacy will fall.”

You held back a witty remark at the fact that she was talking as if your father was some prophet who died saving the world and you were supposed to be in line for his succession? Both your father and her husband were both just the CEO of some really big company, you assumed? You didn’t even know what company it was! Cosmetic? Convenience store? Toilet seats?

“Why do I have to marry your son for your husband to sponsor my father’s company?” You asked instead, “Sponsorship doesn’t require marriage. It only requires money.”

“Money requires relations,” she said, “He has no reason to help your father when your family was facing bankruptcy until you and Minho got married.”

You pursed your lips together, “There is no relationship going on between me and Minho.”

“And nobody has to know that,” she said, looking at you pointedly. For the first time, the soft aura she exuded was replaced with something formal, more businesslike. “Nobody knows that your marriage is an unhappy one except for me, (Name). You were the one who caved in and told me.”

Minho had the sense to at least pretend as if he liked you in public. That was rather unexpected even though ‘acting as if everything is okay in front of people’ has always been the first rule to these arranged marriages. And the former you, too, knew enough to not show Minho that they were both uncomfortable and unappreciated when they were with him.

Your hand flew up to your chin, and your fingertips lingered against the aftertouch of Minho’s grip. Your memories had conveniently left out the part where you dug your nails into his skin until it hurt and you never tried to see if his wrist was okay.

“I know Minho can be a little insufferable sometimes, but I hope that you can remember how much you love him whenever those times come,” she leaned forward to speak, her tone much more sympathetic now, “Of course, I am not telling you to never get mad at him. I just hope that you can love him, always, even when you hate him.”

You blinked nervously at her. That was profoundly cheesy and unrealistic. It wasn’t impossible, though, you were pretty sure the former you had mastered the art of hating and loving Minho as a husband. But you weren’t them, and while you didn’t outrightly refuse to fall in love with Minho, he has done absolutely nothing to gain your good interest.

The condescending gazes, the potential cheating, the dull voice, the rules, and bad temper—you just couldn’t like him at the moment. And if he doesn’t come back around and change his attitude, you were afraid the impression would become too hard to budge.

“And if that has become too hard for you to deal with, at least do it for your parents’ sake.”

Oh, she pulled the ‘dead parents’ card on you, (Name). Destroying a person’s love life, even though it was a terrible love life, was a kind of guilt you believed you would get over eventually. But their parents were a whole different story.

You scrunched your nose up in dismay, feeling stubborn and wanting to act on it so badly, but the situation was starting to feel more and more hopeless as it went on. Biting your lower lip, you asked with a soft voice, not wanting to startle any unwanted suspicion, “Do I… do I even love him at all?”

The look she gave you was patient as if she understood your mixed feelings. She nodded her head, “You have always told me you do. Unless you are lying to me, I don’t see how you don’t love my son, one way or another.”

You glanced down at your hands and clenched them together then. You felt like yourself, you looked like yourself, and you sound like yourself. However, no matter from which part you look at, this wasn’t your life. This rich, arranged marriage life wasn’t yours; the working overtime and dunking down ramen soup life was yours and where you were only qualified enough to live.

If divorcing Minho would come with a package that held more than just leaving a toxic relationship, you would rather not do it. You would much rather just wait and let the time be done with you.

* * *

Seeing the amount of stress that engulfed your body when you finally finished with lunch, your driver took the liberty to drive you all the way to a shopping mall so you could enjoy yourself and cool off some steam. It was a very heartwarming gesture, and you didn’t forget to thank him before you left the car and waited for him to drive away before you headed into the shopping mall.

It was the kind of shopping mall you would come across if you joined a tour group to travel to another country. You also liked to call it the shopping mall where you only walked in and never bought anything, because every store inside was either too expensive or not of your taste and also too expensive. Despite having more than a sufficient amount of money on your hands at the moment, you just could not shake off the lack of interest for any of these high-end brands.

Puffing air into your cheeks, you chewed on the boba you just bought from a store located at a rather invisible corner. It was the only item you were willing to spend money on, and thank god the store did not try to amp up the prices as Disneyland would with a bottle of tasteless water just because it was located somewhere lavish.

Your mind has wandered off once again, as you would recently. With these events happening all at once, and with your drama obsessive brain’s absolute calculation, there was one very important thing missing from your life right now: the best friend.

Most likely male. Most likely very good looking, very smart, also very rich and very nice to you. Possibly extremely in love with you but somehow never got picked, and now his opportunity had vanished due to an arranged marriage.

“Yeah… where is my super hot best friend?” You stopped in the middle of the road, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction, and lips jutted out into a pout. You were dying to meet him, whoever he may be, all just to get a sense of relief that you’ve got somebody to lean on at a time like this and perhaps just to cure your second-leads syndrome.

Continuing to walk, your hearing slowly came back to reality and your ears were starting to pick up noises outside of those in your brain. A very familiar voice rang around your area and you paused once again to hear it more clearly.

“Come on, wouldn’t I look nice in this? Let’s go in, Minho!”

Your eyes rounded at the name and you pursed your lips together. What kind of shitty coincidence was this? Out of all the shopping malls in this country, it has to be this particular one and at this particular spot? What did fate expect you to do? Make a scene? Complain? Cry about your cheating husband?

“Walk away, (Name),” you muttered to yourself before you stuffed the straw into your mouth and fastened your pace.

“Oh, (Name), is that you?”

You almost choked on the boba in your mouth. Pressing your lips together, you snapped your head up with the most menacing glare you could muster to flash it at the new intruder, and immediately you came face to face with a man with the cutest grin you have ever seen.

A strangled sound blew from your throat and came out of your pursed lips. It was an ugly sound but you could not care less about your reaction as you melted at the sight of the adorable boy standing in front of you. Chubby cheeks, nice smile, not very tall but broad chest and muscular arms that you could already assume give out great hugs.

“Oh my god,” you whispered under your breath, “It’s you.”

Oh, you have found your super hot, super-nice, very tall–ahh, not very tall but tall enough for you, best friend!

“Yes, is it I,” he laughed at you, “Why? Did you miss me?”

“Definitely, you have no idea,” you nodded, still chewing on your boba.

He looked surprised for a moment as he tilted his head and that bright smile dimmed. His eyes turned into those of observant ones as he started to look you up and down, then he reached out to pinch your cheek gently while he hummed.

“(Name)…” he started slowly, “You seem different. Did you do something–”

“Hands off, Seo Changbin.”

Hands off—what, oh my lord. You widened your eyes at the three simple yet demanding words, and you found your stupid heart leaping at them. Pursing your lips, you lowered your head to hide a smile.

God, (Name), how low _are_ your standards? How did that manage to get your heart racing?

Minho didn’t attempt to swat Changbin’s hand away from you, the latter did it on impulse upon seeing the unamused expression on Minho’s face. Raising an eyebrow, Changbin showed nothing more than a sarcastic smile as he leaned back on his weight and stared Minho down lazily from behind you.

“Minho, how wonderful to see you here,” Changbin greeted. His eyes darted to the side to find Yuna walking up to join the gathering, and his forehead creased with light anger for a second.

Shifting his gaze to you, he was surprised to find you sipping on your drink casually as your eyes darted between Yuna and Minho, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He raised an eyebrow at you and he stood up straighter, completely confused by the lack of pain flickering in your eyes.

“Hey, Minho,” you greeted, “Hello to you too, Yuna.”

They looked as if they just got called out but despite the faintly rooted embarrassment, the two of them returned the greeting politely and quietly. The tension was high and thick, you could break it, even with a wave of Yuna’s perfectly manicured and sharp nails.

“Well, if there is nothing important, I will be leaving,” you shrugged, not quite looking at Minho in the eyes. You couldn’t, not after having lunch with his mother and after everything she has told you about him.

Turning around, you smiled, “I am hungry. Can we find a restaurant and eat? Preferably a place with normal, human portion food.”

Changbin cleared his throat and smirked at your strange remark, then he nodded, “Yeah, totally.”

You gave him a soft smile of gratitude, happy that he agreed with no trouble. And when you turned to Minho again, he looked as stoic as he has always been. You shivered at his expression and gave him a grimace, “Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Changbin stifled a laugh while Yuna widened her eyes in displeasure. She opened her mouth to speak, but she found it hard to shoot down the truth. Minho does keep his expression on a constant angry mode and while she wouldn’t bluntly say it the way you just did, she also would not mind seeing Minho crack a smile from now and then.

“How do you expect me to smile when my spouse is out with someone else?”

“Did you think over your words, Minho? Because I really don’t think you did,” you glanced between him and Yuna.

Minho heaved a sigh as he closed his eyes. He explained then, “I didn’t plan to come out with her. She dragged me.”

Oh god, Yuna, you poor soul.

“Ah, well,” you said, gesturing towards the heartbroken girl, “There is no harm in letting her drag you around for another hour, alright?”

Waving those two a small goodbye, you quickly turned around and beckoned for Changbin to follow you. After walking for a little, Changbin finally breathed out a puff of air as he placed his hand on his chest to release the awkward tension.

“That was weird,” he said, “But hey, you handled it pretty well! I am really surprised!”

“Of course I did! Who do you think I am?” You rolled your eyes.

He laughed, “I guess there isn’t anything for you to worry about. You two are happily married after all.”

You blinked at his response, confused for only a short moment before you quietly exhaled an 'oh.’ Minho’s mother was telling the truth, 'you’ really did not tell anyone else aside from her about how unhappy this marriage has been for you and Minho. Not even the best friend knew.

You looked at the ground. Damn, you were hoping you could ignite some feverish fire between you two. Changbin seemed like someone who you could have amazing chemistry with, as best friends and perhaps, as lovers. However, judging by the way he acted around Minho and how he didn’t seem to mind your marriage at all, you doubted his affection for you to be more than just very close friends.

Best-Friend zoned. Ugh, fine, maybe you should keep it that way too.

“Yeah, I really wouldn’t worry,” you smiled.

“Besides, if anything is to happen to Minho and Yuna then it would have ages ago,” Changbin shrugged, “Nothing ever did.”

You bit your lower lip at his remark. Oh god, Yuna. You poor girl.

* * *

Minho looked up at the clock. He could feel the anxiousness increase as the clock ticks away the morning after midnight. Checking his phone once again, it took him another glance at his zero missed calls and zero new texts to remember you had left your phone at home before you went outside this afternoon.

Changbin still has not read the single, semi-threatening text Minho sent before ten o'clock asking about your whereabouts and demanding him to send you home immediately. He did figure that a reply would be too generous of an act from Changbin. For one, Changbin hated Minho; for two, you were married to Minho, which only made the hatred go even deeper into the ground.

He bit his lower lip as his eyes trailed over to the clock once again.

Where were you? You have never been home this late before! Not to mention your actions today at the shopping mall! It was nothing like what Minho thought you were capable of, ever! You had never once ditched him to hang out with Changbin before. He practically doesn’t exist whenever you so much as feel Minho’s presence, not because you were scared of him but because you genuinely did love him.

Right?

In the midst of his thoughts, the front door to the house conveniently swung open. You stepped into the living room and immediately, the old lady who you saw the other morning rushed up to you with a worried look on her face.

“Where have you been!” She lightly hit your arm as she scolded.

You gave her a faint laugh. Her harmless scolding was endearing to you. You hadn’t known you and she had such an interesting dynamic but you weren’t surprised, nor were you opposed to it.

“Just a lot of places. Changbin brought me outside to have some fun,” you replied.

“Oh, good lord! And you left your phone at home too!” She said, “You got Minho worried sick–you got me worried sick! I was gonna go home but I wanted to make sure you will come back safely!”

To be frank, you had beeped her out for the most part of her words. Mildly focusing on cooing at her about how Changbin had taken very good care of you this whole day (and her looking as if you were chanting some forbidden spell because you were talking about another man), your mind lingered on the piece of information she gave you: you got Minho worried sick.

“I’m sorry for coming back so late, I will make sure to bring my phone next time.”

“No! You make sure to come back home early next time!” She exclaimed, “But yes, bring your phone too!”

“Okay, I promise,” you nodded at you, pursing your lips into a grin.

She waved at your expression that mirrored that of an ignorant but kind child. You were listening, you just weren’t really taking her seriously in the most respectful and playful way possible.

“You kids,” she sighed and placed her wrinkly hand on your arm, “Have you eaten dinner? Are you hungry?”

Ah. Your chest warmed and you instantly knew why. You missed your mom. She would probably pamper you like this too if you ever came home this late, and probably with a much longer and serious lecture. You wouldn’t really know, though. You lived far and you were always working now that you have grown up.

“I did, I ate dinner,” you said, “I am really full.”

“Are you sure? I can cut you some apples if you want, there are fruits in the kitchen! Or maybe you want some oranges?”

“No, that’s okay,” you smiled at her gratefully, “I am full. I ate so much today.”

“Okay,” she said, “If there is nothing else then I am going to go home.”

“Now? It’s really late. Why don’t you stay here?” You said, turning around to look at the door before turning back to her.

“No worries. The driver was waiting for you to come home too, I can ask for a free ride,” she laughed loudly as she moved over to the front door. Before she left, she turned around to face you slightly, and she nagged, “Go tell Minho you’re back!”

You only gave her a forced smile in response. As soon as those doors closed, a sarcastic and overexaggerated grimace appeared on your face. You turned around, walking into the house as you mumbled mean nothings under your breath about not believing that Minho was actually worried about your whereabouts. He’s definitely got better things to do, why should he worry?

Despite not wanting to talk to him whatsoever, you found yourself walking to his office anyway. Clearing your mind and your throat, you pursed your lips together in dismay before you knocked on the door.

Your eyes widened when it immediately swung open, the lack of waiting you needed to do startling you. Minho’s furrowed brows relaxed for a brief second at the acknowledgment that you were fine and back under the roof, but as usual, he returned back to his annoyed state before you could catch the concern appearing in his eyes.

He thought twice about reaching over to grab your arm so he could pull you into the room; the emotional fragment in his chest still aching brightly. Hesitantly taking a step back from you, he opened the door wider and cleared his throat to put emphasis on his current, very annoyed mood, “We need to talk.”

Oh. That is almost never good. Despite never hearing that from anybody else other than your parents, your muscles clenched at the simple idea of what that line contained, especially now that you were supposedly married. Taking a tentative step forward, you spared Minho a glance before you walked into the office and paused right in the middle of the room.

You grimaced at the memory of when you were here last time. It was not a very good sight to see, not that you had many complaints about whatever really went down back then because you still, until this moment, have zero care of Minho’s love life outside of this failing marriage. The grimace on your face expanded when the door slammed shut. You turned around and eyed Minho with a surprised look.

He glared back at you, obviously angry, and you seemed to have an idea as to why that was. He walked near you, but not close enough to create too much intimidation, and he crossed his arms, “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been out,” you said, calmly in hopes that it would rub off on him. “Just outside. To malls and the streets, nowhere too far away from here.”

“You were out for really long, do you know what time it is?” He asked, “You had me wo–It’s way past midnight!”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, really,” you said, “I wasn’t actively checking the time and, well, one thing led to another and by the time we finished chatting, it’s past twelve!”

Minho gulped down the competitiveness that arose when he heard that you have been out with Changbin for the entire day, having fun and chatting like a pair of best friends. It should be normal but Minho could not help the tinted jealousy that continued to pour out of his lips in the form of regrettable words. Not to mention, his feelings were magnified after the conversation you both had about a divorce. 

He has really gotten too used to receiving your undivided love and attention that, upon the vaguest chance of anybody stealing the throne away, he growls and attacks to make sure he keeps what was his only to himself.

He scoffed out a laugh, the corner of his lips quirked up into an unamused smirk. His arms fell from his chest and landed on his side where they found a place to rest on his hips, “Oh, right, I forgot you were having fun with Changbin.”

“Oh?” The questioning sound was inaudible. Your mind spun fast to understand what he meant with those petty words, and despite being quite entertained by his reaction, you still felt bitter at how unfair he was treating you, “Yet, you are with Yuna today.”

“Like I said, she dragged me out–“

“You have full capability to say no,” you reasoned, “You could have said no. I am sure she would have listened to you, considering how much she likes you.”

“What, so you’re just going to be mad at me about that for the rest of your life?” Minho clicked his tongue in annoyance. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away to convince himself not to explode, “You know… I’ve got plenty of reasons to be mad at you about too!”

“Really? Care to enlighten me?”

“You went to talk to my mom about getting a divorce?” He said, his eyes sparklingly wide. And if you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was so upset that he was about to cry.

A part of you was shocked that she told on you, but you wouldn’t put the blame on her for talking to her own son about his relationship. You just hoped she didn’t disclose in detail what you talked to her about, after all, you have really only known Minho for days. Your bad opinions of him, although true, were not ideals you wanted to weigh on his back for the rest of his life.

Two days should not sum up his entire life.

However, in the heat of this situation, your logic was completely thrown out and you both were only aiming to hurt and blame each other as much as you could. 

“Huh… you aren’t mad about me coming home late… you don’t care about that at all?” Your shoulder relaxed and your gaze softened as a realization dawned upon you. And then you breathed out a faint, bitter chuckle, “You’re just mad because I talked to your mom about getting a divorce and you got an earful today, didn’t you?”

“Oh, oh no, it is so much more than that!“

“What else are you mad about?” You asked, feeling your cheeks heat up as you desperately tried to defend yourself the same way Minho was trying to stand on his ground. “You shouldn’t care if I went out with Changbin–“

“Of course I care!” He raised his voice, taking a step towards you, “We are married, and you just went running off with some other man for the entire day–”

“Let’s not act like you love me enough to care about who I am with now, Minho,” you pointed out, furrowing your brows at him, “Even if we are married legally. Emotionally, we are as connected as parallel lines.”

He paused at your pretentious yet still poetic line, wondering since when have you gotten the ability to talk with your chin up like that. Then he snapped back to the argument at hand, his head tilting to the side as he hardened his gaze at you, “You don’t think I care about you even the slightest bit?”

You heaved a sign. Well, let’s count off all the things he has done for you so far: putting you back to your bed after you fainted, buying you dinner, being a little possessive when Changbin was pinching your cheek, worrying about you being late. For sure, those were pretty heart-racing things to do, and it seemed the effect on your fragile feelings were magnified with his good-looks. But it would not be enough if he only does good things under the shadow.

His pretty silhouette could never outrun the shadow that was his stone-cold facade, and he was over here chasing after the impossible sun.

“Maybe a little bit, but I don’t want to settle for a little bit of care,” you told him, “Especially when there is someone out there who is able to provide me with so much more straightforwardly.”

Minho laughed sardonically, rolling his eyes, “This is about that insufferable best friend of yours–“

“No, it’s not!” You snapped, clapping your hands together on impulse.

Your eyes were wide and teary now, you were really getting into the argument. It felt almost exhilarating; you have never fought with anyone like this before. Fighting over love and whatnot. It wasn’t what you hoped to do, you were really aiming for a much calmer conversation. But at the mention of Changbin, who has been nothing but patient and kind to you, you just could not stop yourself from setting the record straight.

“This has nothing to do with Changbin. It has everything to do with you and your shitty attitude, Minho, starting from the first moment I met you until now!” You counted off your fingers then, numbering the things he’s done, “You look at me like I’m beneath you, you talk to me like I’m not important at all. We don’t share a bed, we don’t share a closet. You set rules for me around the house. From the sound of it, I’m not even supposed to step into your room! Why is that, Minho? I am really curious about that, truly.”

You stopped talking, but you and him both knew there was more to say than all that you have spoken of.

“I have never complained about anything, have I? All I did is love you, and you took advantage of that to become this spoiled brat that you are right now,” you said, your hands joined together for a moment before they released each other. Your fingers lingered on the ring then, twisting it and turning it as you contemplate your next move.

Minho was speechless as he stared at the ground, but his head was positioned high enough for you to still see his expression. For the first time, he looked genuinely distressed. His fist clenched at his side and his lips trembling in realization. Of these past two days, and of all the times before you were even here; how he has treated you.

You breathed out a soft sigh after calming down. You were sure Minho must have good qualities in him that made you fall in love with him in the first place. And, bouncing back to all the dramas you have watched, all characters like him are often too romantically incapable when it comes to expressing their true feelings. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you, it was just that he didn’t know how to show it.

People like him need a lot of time and comfort, which you are completely willing to give if he is willing to try.

“Look, Minho,” you volunteered to step up so you could be closer to him, closing the distance for an unreachable form of intimacy. You looked at him, an unknown feeling coming over you as you gently tipped his chin up with your fingertips. He looked at you, surprised, but he listened.

“I am sure I loved you for a reason,” you cleared your throat, “But I can’t love you when you’re like this. I refuse to.”

_“How could anyone ever love you like this?”_

Nobody can, Minho. Not when you couldn’t show the pile of gold locked up in your heart. What have you been so afraid of? Why wouldn’t you let it out?

Minho’s eyes watered and he bit his feelings back, “What do you want me to do?”

“If I tell you then there’s no meaning to it,” you shrugged as you let him go, and he missed the warmth of your touch. You reached for your own hand as you smiled politely at him, “You can hold onto this for me.”

You left the room after you handed him the object. The door closed behind him and Minho opened his hand. The wedding ring stood on his palm, shining brightly and expensively.

It looked as if it would cost him his entire heart.

* * *

Minho waited anxiously at the table. His fingers tapping rhythmically against the thick table cloth, which was long enough to drape over his shaking knees. His eyes glanced from one side of the restaurant to the other, not so much making observations as his mind was occupied with thoughts of his own.

The did not get a lick of sleep yesterday night. He stayed up the whole night staring up at the dim ceiling; recalling everything you told him and reevaluating all the decisions he has made for his marriage. And he has come to an understanding that your sudden awakening was nothing short of a blessing to him, it was a route to guide him to a happier marriage considering you have not been yearning for the divorce papers when you two saw each other during breakfast this morning.

But despite that, Minho knew he has to be careful with every step he takes onward from this point. Just because you haven’t been actively asking to be divorced did not mean your heart would be set on him and that you would be sitting quietly and waiting for him to be better. The ring sitting in his pocket was kept as a reminder that someone else could very well snatch you away from him any second.

He scowled at the thought, especially when Changbin posed as the greatest enemy at the moment. Not a second later, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he jumped at the intrusion. Pulling it out of his pocket, he didn’t bother to look at the caller before he accepted the call and greeted with a hushed, annoyed tone.

“Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Minho perked up at your voice. He did another scan around the restaurant and his frown only deepened when he could not find you anywhere. You giggled on the other end, your surprised voice coming through rather staticky as you spoke, “I said don’t frown and you go ahead and frown even more!”

He relaxed into himself upon your careless laughter. Scoffing out a short laugh, he spoke, “Tell me a joke then I might just laugh.”

“A joke? Okay,” you rolled your eyes, “You know who invited me to lunch today? You.”

The joke did not receive the reaction you were hoping for. What you expected would be a sardonic smile turned out to be a remorseful grimace and a flash of guilt before those pretty eyes of his. You gasped out in shock, your eyes widening as you immediately moved out of your hiding spot and approached the table he sat at.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, Minho. I genuinely thought that would be funny,” you said urgently as your feet tapped their way across the marble floor. When you were finally of reach, you hung up the phone and sat across from him.

Perking up, you gave him a brief nod before quickly diving into the real deal, “Wait, give me another chance. I have something really funny to say.”

Minho didn’t speak. He nodded at you and sat there waiting for a joke to be delivered to him patiently.

“Okay, why do cows have hooves instead of feet?”

Minho blinked at you and tilted his head, “Because they lactose.”

Damn. He wasn’t supposed to get that. You assumed that he would give you a legitimate answer, something knowledgeable and scientific. Then you would jokingly scold him for not having a sense of humor before you tell him the punchline, and then he would laugh and you could regain your throne as the God of Humor.

You pursed your lips as you stared him down, then you pressed your lips into a scowl, “You weren’t supposed to tell me the punchline.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I gotta start the joke somehow!” You retorted.

Minho found your frustration more endearing than unfair. He needed to suppress a burst of laughter from bubbling up his throat when you started to throw that mini tantrum of yours.

“Okay, okay, don’t be mad,” he laughed as he reached to the middle of the table and pushed the small basket of bread towards you, “Here, eat some breadsticks.”

Your eyes trailed down to the basket and they widened in excitement. You jumped slightly in your seat, almost pouncing over to get the bread the was only a few inches away from you. “Oh wow, these are one of those places that serve bread before the appetizers, huh?” You commented as you picked the bread that was fresh out of the oven and coated with the right amount of salt, then you carelessly popped it in your mouth.

Minho nodded, slightly confused at your choice of wordings, “Yeah… this is your favorite restaurant, shouldn’t you know?”

Choking on your saliva, you continued to chew on the bread but you covered your mouth to hide the shock that you unexpectedly showed to him. Oh, you really have to be a little more careful with your words. You have almost forgotten that this wasn’t your life, and it would be a pain for anyone to be suspicious of your identity.

“I know, I just was… stating the obvious,” you shrugged as a slow smile appeared on your face.

Come to think of it, you knew nothing about Minho. All the memories you have of him were horrible at best and they were all new and fresh. None of which you could use to strengthen the idea that you were the real ‘you’ and not somebody who just infiltrated into a stranger’s body. You have been so focused on people problems that you forgot the important goal of gaining relevant information for future references.

“So,” you cleared your throat, clearing your head and settling the brand new goal down in the middle of your head. This would be the perfect time to discreetly learn more about Minho; you just have to be careful with your wordings. “How was work this morning?”

Minho did not seem fully convinced about your sudden gentle outburst, but you acting weird was not a topic he wished to proceed with for the remaining lunch, therefore he didn’t press on and simply flashed you a knowing nod and a simple reply. “It was fine. The same routine, just different days.”

Well, not only did you have to be careful, you needed to be a little smart with your wordings too. That answer gave you zero new information.

Smacking your lips obnoxiously, you grabbed the menu that has been sitting on the edge of the table and opened it. Glancing carelessly at the dishes, once again grimacing at the fact that there weren’t any price tag printed on the papers, you asked with a casual tone, “That’s cool. What did you do?”

Minho looked away, thinking. “I just had a meeting with my dad this morning and listened to the departments pitch their new ideas.”

“I think I’ll get the pasta,” you slammed the menu shut upon his vague answer. Putting it down on the table, you folded your hands on the table and glared pointedly at him with a smile that caught Minho off guard. It felt calculating, which was true to its nature. “What kind of ideas?”

“Oh, just the usual things–why do you suddenly want to know?” He furrowed his brows as he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You have never asked me about work.”

“I have never? I remember I have before,” You feigned a gasp while you mentally took a note down to not ask him too much about work problems. It wasn’t like you particularly cared about it anyway.

“No, not in detail,” he shook his head, an innocent pout evident on his face. As you hummed thoughtfully, he conveniently added, “I don’t… umm, I don’t hate that you are asking though. Just thought I can tell you.”

His head was turned to the side when he spoke. His face scrunched up and his face muscles hardened to express how foreign and uncomfortable it was for him to express his feeling so openly like that. You almost wanted to coo at how adorable he was acting; he was one cheek blush away from being the perfect tsundere.

But, more importantly, you could tell he was trying. Starting from him asking you to have lunch with him this morning, with a surprisingly timid voice and jumpy gaze, to this exact moment. You hadn’t expected him to change—or at least attempt to change—this quickly; all it took was one speech from you. And you appreciated the effort.

With caution tipped only to the side, you chose to give him a generous chance at redemption.

"I am glad that you enjoy my curiosity, and thank you for telling me your truest desire,” you dipped your head playfully and smiled.

Minho mirrored the expression on your face. His head turning to you slowly after seeing that fond smile of yours. He couldn’t pinpoint whether the quirk of your lips was made for him or simply just a part of your quirky response, but he was going to take any positivity he could get out of you.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his eyes grazing past the tablecloth nervously as his mind jittered at what he was about to say. He cleared his throat, pressing his lips together to keep the smile away for a moment before he asked, “So, uh, I am going to be home for dinner today.”

“Hmm, great! Let’s eat together then,” you said with excited eyes, your smile never fading. Then, with a sudden scrunch of your brows, you told him, “I’ll see what I can do about that. You don’t have to get anything!”

“O–oh, yeah, no problem,” Minho nodded, then he added, “Are you going to cook?”

You hummed thoughtfully. You haven’t gotten the time to cook in a while. Back when you were still on your Earth, while knowing how to make food, you lacked sufficient time or energy to actually make anything so most days there were only choices of instant noodles or takeout food. You were afraid your skills might be off the scale now.

“I… don’t know yet,” you replied, squinting your eyes at him teasingly, “Do you want me to cook you something?”

He held up his hands awkwardly at the sudden attention, a scoff leaving his lips and a flustered blush creeping up his cheeks. You breathed out quietly at his out-of-character reaction. It was either he just suddenly changed overnight or he has been hiding this adorable side of him professionally well for the past two days.

Both of these could be possible in a drama, which you still believe was what you got stuck in.

“I didn’t even know you can cook until recently! How can I want to try your food?” Minho said defensively. He let his hands down and snorted with an eye-roll, “I bet it’s garbage anyway.”

Ah. There was the Lee Minho you knew of. You smiled, realizing how atrocious it was to be talking as if you have crossed the mountains and the seas with him when you have only known him for days.

“Hey, my food can be many things. Too sweet, too salty, whatever,” you pointed at him, slightly offended even though he might not be wrong. “But they are not garbage.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it,” he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile made its way to your face. This was a ploy—he was discreetly asking for you to make dinner tonight without sounding like he wanted it. Or maybe your assumption was wrong but you would very much like to shower yourself with some attention right now.

“Fine, we’ll see after tonight, Minho,” you said.

“I’ll be anticipating,” he retorted with an arch of his brow, a grin slowly making its way to his way when he saw the childish pout you showed him.

Wasn’t that great? Minho wondered why it took him so long to do this, to just have a normal conversation with you. He really was a spoiled brat, huh? His delusional mind always thought you would love him unconditionally, even without the reciprocation.

He was glad to be corrected. He would have continued to be on his snobby path if you hadn’t snapped at him and took the ring off.

You noticed the sudden change of expression on Minho’s face as he stared down at the table. It was guilt-ridden. Twisting your pinky finger, you decided not to say anything and just let him think in peace.

* * *

“Okay, hear me out–hey, Minho! Hear me out,” you held back a short laugh when you saw the disappointed look on his face. Gesturing towards the takeout bags on the tea table, you got up from the couch and shook your hands to get his attention.

“I thought you said something about cooking dinner tonight,” Minho muttered under his breath as he placed his bag down on the dining table, then he slowly made his way closer to the couch area so he could stand there gazing down at you with a semi-irritated but ultimately humorous glance. “Whatever happened to that.”

“Well, that’s why I said hear me out, big guy,” you retorted. Once again gesturing towards the takeout bags, you licked your lower lip and explained, “I was planning on cooking dinner but I figured why not have some pizza instead? Because obviously, you’ve never had takeout pizza before, have you?”

Minho furrowed his brows at you in confusion. The things you say kept getting weirder and weirder lately; he was probably a pinch away from getting you to see a psychiatrist. “I have eaten takeout pizza before, with my friend,” he shrugged, his eyes darting away as if to recall the memory, “Yeah, during college.”

You hummed. He could have. But you were almost a hundred percent sure it was one of those extravagant, over-priced, too little cheese and not enough bread kind of pizza. You did not head outside to get one of those despite your mouth salivating at the mere thought of having some of those.

What you did, instead, was ask the driver to drive you out to the streets so you could get the kind of pizza you usually get.

The oily garbage kind. The kind you eat in front of a television that you couldn’t hear because everyone was talking too loud. The kind that leaves stains on your couch before nobody ever bothers to use a napkin anymore.

“Trust me, it is not the type you are used to eating,” you beckoned him over to sit next to you on the couch. Reaching over to take out the oily paper boxes and setting them on the tea table, you glanced over to see Minho staring at you unsurely. You sighed, “Sit down, Minho, it’s pizza, not poison.”

“Looks like it to me,” he reluctantly replied, but following your directions, he took off his blazer and neatly folded it over the edge of the couch then he found the spot next to you. His eyes followed as you laid all the food across the table, popped open the cola can, and grabbed the television remote before jumping back onto the couch comfortably.

“It might be poison, but it’s the good kind of poison,” your eyes fixated on the switching programs, you took a bite out of the big chunk of fries you grabbed with your fist. Though chewing your food, your eyes widened when the drama you wanted to watch finally flipped on, and you carelessly dropped the remote to the side before pointing at the screen, “Oh! Here we go, I have been waiting for this!”

“For what?” Minho followed your gaze and furrowed his brows at the screen. He could recognize the celebrities acting in the show but he had no idea what kind of show it was.

“You’ve never watched it, I figured. Don’t worry, I got the briefing speech down this afternoon,” you reached over to cut out a piece of pizza before pulling out and cutting the stretching cheese.

Sitting back on the couch, you propped a leg up and leaned your hot pizza against it. Your eyes were careful on the screen as you waited for each character to appear. “All you need to know is that the suit guy likes the short-haired girl and green dress bitch likes suit guy. Jumper boy is short hair girl’s best friend. You can figure out the rest.”

After explaining, you snorted out a giggle. That plot certainly sounded familiar. It was great to know that the drama within a drama would also be cliché like that.

“I think she is about to get slapped but the guy is gonna come save her–watch them cut to the hand around the wrist,” you said before taking a big bite of the pizza, your eyes anticipating the plot unfolding in the screen. Sparing a glance towards Minho, you frowned at the way he just awkwardly sat on his spot, eyes glazing past the food on the table with a slight look of distaste.

“Try something, they’re good,” you urged, putting your foot down on the floor and dropping your half-finished pizza on the empty side of the box. You took the liberty of cutting a small piece out, making the round shape uneven but it was for a good cause. Scooting closer to Minho, you moved the food towards his face with a teasing smile, “Come on. It’s good. It’s pizza.”

“That’s fine,” he said, then he pressed his mouth shut and shook his head to refuse the suggestion.

You sighed in faint annoyance. How could this be it? You were supposed to go through the classic montage of teaching the rich boy all about the wondrous world of poor people traditions, starting from deliciously poisonous food, of course. And you two shall bond immensely during the one-minute montage and ultimately, he shall fall head over heels for you.

Not that… you particularly care much for whether he… falls in love with you. It was whatever.

“Minho, don’t make me tackle you and force this down your throat,” your gaze sharpened as you lowered your hands to reveal your face. “Just one small bite. I’ll even play airplane for you if you want–“

“There is no need for that,” he said, “This is atrocious.”

“Ugh, big words, over a conversation about pizza,” you rolled your eyes, “Just try it. One small bite. If you don’t like it then I’ll finish everything here by myself.”

Minho side-eyed all the food on the table and he snickered, “That’s a lot of greases. You’re gonna get a tummy ache.”

“You underestimate my digestive ability,“ you clicked your tongue and glared at him, “Look at you! You got me over here talking about bowel movements!”

“I didn’t force you to say anything regarding that matter,” he shrugged.

Then your mind simply decided it was enough talking for him. He needed something to chew on, and that would be the garbage food you were holding in your hand. Minho seemed to sense the burst of devilish instinct through your arched brows, and he quickly moved back against the couch just as you grinned and crawled on top of his body.

You paid zero minds to the position you put yourself in while Minho tried not to think too much about your legs straddling his abdomen as he forced himself to keep his eyes up at your face. You rolled the pizza up as you would fold a piece of bread, curling it into a sandwich-like figure before poking it to Minho’s mouth.

“Come on, Minho, I can’t beg you for too long. This one-minute montage has lasted about a page now,” you whined, shimmering yourself closer to his body by moving your thighs.

The unnoticed friction below forced Minho to open his mouth for a surprised gasp. His eyes widened to stare at you while a heated blush crept onto his cheeks. You took the chance to shove the roll of pizza into his mouth, and all Minho could do was chew on the food. His brows arched as seconds passed, tasing the cheesy food on his tongue and chewing the far too rigid bread.

His hands have found their place at your hips now as he concentrated on the paradoxical food in his mouth, his previous panic mode coming to a halt suddenly. It was bad, he could point out exactly why it was bad too but he liked it somehow. Inhaling a sharp breath, his eyes trailed towards you and he nodded, “It’s… I quite like it.”

A grin broke out then and you clasped your hands together in pure joy, “See? I told you you would like it!”

Minho tried not to smile too much due to the food in his mouth, but you could see his eyes arch into a moon shape and it was enough compensation for the lack of smiley lips. After that, it was just quiet. The only sound being made was from the television; it sounded like the second female lead was crying once again as she desperately spilled out her confession. 

You turned your head over to focus on the screen, your brows slightly furrowed and a grimace appearing once you saw how heartbroken the female lead was. Your expression was not out of sympathy, it was annoyance at the fact that she never stops crying.

While you were watching the people on the screen, Minho was watching you.

Your hands have fallen to his chest, unbeknownst to you. Your fingertips pressing against the fabric of his button-up shirt; just a thin wall until they reach the surface of his warm skin. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, no ill intentions provided, it was just the force of daydream.

“Oh, god, seriously?” You muttered under your breath as your face scrunched up in dismay, “Do you see this shit, Minho? He just kissed her. Fucking disgusting!”

You turned to look at him, catching his gaze immediately. Confusion faded quickly and your belly tightened when it hit you that Minho has been staring at you for the entirety of this moment. Not to mention the rather intimate position you two were seated in. Clenching your fist tightly, you gasped out and quickly prepared to back off his torso.

“Wait–hold on, I have something to ask!” Minho tightened his grip on your hips, his voice urgent.

“What–what? Yeah?” You breathed out.

Minho’s lips started to quiver, a sign of nervousness you could tell. His eyes moved away from you to the television and back to you again. He cleared his throat a few times, his fingers still gently fixing at the hem of your shirt, unknowingly making your heart pump furiously at the tingly sensation.

“I… uh, basically I want to ask… “ he started, “It’s just… if you are okay with it, of course, I would like you to… um, sleep with… me?”

You blinked down at him, rubbing the back of your finger near your cupid’s bow as you sniffed. That was an unexpected question but you came prepared for it. While you knew things have changed drastically starting this morning, all the courtesy to the event last night, you didn’t want things to happen too quick and easy for him. Heading back to sleep on the same bed with him, an act that fosters closeness, you were not willing to just hand it to him yet.

_Damn._ You selfishly smiled to yourself. _This is what it feels like to be chased._

“Thank you for the offer, Minho, but… no,” you replied softly, glancing down at him kindly, “Maybe someday soon.”

He nodded at you, disappointment lacing in the heaves of his chest, “Yeah. That’s no problem.”

“But I do want you to know that I am glad about you taking the first step to change,” you said, “And for not making a fool out of me, you know? I was wishing I hadn’t given the chance to the wrong person.”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, “Thank you for letting me know.”

Breathing in the silence, you gave him one last smile before backing off his body once and for all. You returned to your designated spot and pulled your legs close to your chest to make up for the sudden loss of warmth. A small smile played at your lips, you almost felt like you were back in high school talking to your first crush again.

“You’re welcome,” you muttered, “We’ve stalled long enough time, let’s just eat and watch the soap opera together.”

He nodded in agreement, then he laughed, “I still have no idea what is going on though.”

“No worries, I will fill you in.” You waved your hand at him, tempting him to sit a little closer to you. Looking at the food, an idea popped into your head and you yelped, pressing a fist to your palm, “Ah! How about I make it up to you by making your lunch tomorrow?”

Minho bit his lower lip as he reached in to pick up a piece of pizza, his hand greased up with just a single grip but he couldn’t care less. He bit back a wide smile, only offering you a nod in return, “Yeah, please. I’d love that.”

* * *

You watched Changbin pop the last spoonful of kimchi fried rice into his mouth, your mouth creasing up into a smile upon the delicious hum he let out as he dropped the metal spoon onto the bento box carelessly, trying to savor the last taste of your homemade lunch. You made extra this morning when you were preparing the food for Minho’s lunch and you decided why not pack one for Changbin too? That way you could share the food and get some reviews in return.

Killing two birds with one stone, huh? I see you were unusually thriving, (Name). Why was that, one might wonder?

“Since when did you learn how to cook so well, (Name)?” Changbin asked when he turned to you, a bunched up piece of tissue in his fist.

Oh great. If Changbin thought the food was good then Minho most likely would too. You did doubt the possibility of him complimenting you on the food straightforwardly, though. He would probably say something irritating first before discreetly slip in some happy words here and there, ones which you would to too annoyed to catch but that would not be his problem since he did, in fact, compliment you.

“I had a lot of free time lately, and I decided why not become an improved version of myself?” You smiled smugly at him. A hand reached up to your shoulder to fake a sassy hair-flip as you hummed in satisfaction, “I am a whole new person now, Bin. I can cook, I can…” your smiled dimmed funnily, “I don’t know what else I can but I am sure I can think of something eventually.”

Changbin breathed out a faint giggle, his eyes casting down at the empty bento box in front of him once again. He was reluctant to taste the food you made when you first presented it to him, talking about not needing to go to some expensive restaurant and whine about receiving a giant plate of a chip-sized spaghetti. It started from him doubting you actually made it since it actually looked presentable, and then it was him being suspicious of the taste.

“It was really good, (Name). Thank you for cooking me something,” he said, squishing your cheek casually. His gaze softened when you grinned at him, joyous and genuine in the truest way possible. It made him feel as if he had missed out on something, like all the smiles you have shown him before served no value compared to this one.

He sighed, folding his hands together and clearing his throat shyly, “Don’t make this weird but you feel happier lately.”

You tilted your head at him, “Huh? I do?”

“Yeah. Well, you have never really come to me about any problems and you were always happy when we hang out. But…” Changbin paused in thoughts, trying to phrase them in the best way possible, “It just feels like you’ve been doing much better than before. Like, I am not insinuating anything about your life and your marriage but you didn’t feel like you were genuinely happy before.”

You would never understand why ‘you’ never talked to Changbin about this broken marriage before and instead chose to talk to Minho’s mother. Even in the dramas that you have watched, books that you have read, the main character always tells their best friend about everything unless it will backfire on them.

Or perhaps that was the reason why? The reason why Changbin was not informed of the truth was that they were trying to keep him from causing a scene, from acting on his feelings?

Your brows furrowed. But it didn’t seem like Changbin has feelings for you though? The worst thing that could happen would be him sucker-punching Minho in the midst of a normal conversation because “how dare you treat my best friend like that, you piece of shit!” or something along the lines of that. It wouldn’t be you choosing him over Minho and thus, humiliating the latter with a sudden divorce.

“That is a good thing,” you said, “I am happier, I guess?”

“It is, I am just wondering why?” Changbin questioned, “Did something happen with Minho?”

“Changbin–“ you pressed your mouth shut.

You almost asked if he has feelings for you, just like that, bluntly and honestly. Thank god you caught your tongue before spilling such conceited bullshit; just because you were the main character of this story didn’t mean you plan to assume your attractiveness just leveled up like that.

And you would much rather you hadn’t met anyone’s standard in this world, unlike how most dramas work. You’ve spent your entire life being mediocre at best, too much attention would serve as nothing but a mere nuisance.

With the bottom lip jutted out, you puffed some air into your cheeks, just to have something to do while the silence rolled on. Changbin was waiting patiently for an answer, dedicated to knowing whether your change in mood had anything to do with your husband.

Your head pounded—technically speaking, it did have something to do with Minho, but even more than him, it had something to do with you.

The body switch changed ‘you,’ whoever they were. If your theory was correct, the people back on Earth could possibly be asking the same question depending on how ‘you’ decided to act. Or you could be sleeping, stuck in an unreasonable coma, unmoving and weak. You closed your eyes for a moment. Oh, you could see it, you could see the flashing images!

All the five people you knew being worried sick (or not) about you, the doctors were all gathered together to examine your body in hopes to find the cause of your deep slumber, paparazzi’s roaming outside your room!

Oh, you better be the talk of the country when you wake up. You wanted to be interviewed, to taken magazine pictures of! You could write a book about this experience; people would probably call you crazy but how would they be able to explain the coma, huh?

(Name), darling, your thoughts were going awfully off-track. Please spare a moment and take a look at the young and handsome man sitting next to you.

“Well, it might be because of him,” you replied carefully, “But it is mostly me. Like I said, I am improving myself! I am learning things and charging myself with knowledge!”

Changbin stared at you for a prolonged moment and you waited nervously for what he would say. The velocity of the wind was just perfect, blowing at your hair without disrupting the beauty of your features but also a sort of feminine flair to the situation; he was staring at you intently with curious eyes, which was enough to make your heart pound. This felt like the perfect time to say something cheesy and thus, mess up your feelings.

“(Name).”

You flinched invisibly, your eyes widened as a squeak left your pursed lips. You looked at him, asking him to continue.

Changbin laughed, “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright? If Minho ever tries to pull any stunt, you tell me–“

You blanked out for the rest of it, relieved that it was not a confession you heard. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, you already knew what Changbin would say. Probably something along the lines of “I will hunt him down and kick his ass,” which would always sound romantic coming from a good-looking man but absolutely hilarious coming from an average-looking one.

Either way, it did warm your heart to hear that someone cared about you enough to bother standing up for you.

“Thank you, Bin,” you said, rolling your eyes up at the sky and looking faraway. Minho popped into your head and a smile graced upon your lips, unbeknownst to you. “But I think Minho is fine. He may not be the best husband but he is trying, and I think I should give him credit for that.”

The way he treated you when you first met him was unreasonable, but at least he took the first step. Instead of ignoring your words and going on to be the asshole he was, thus prompting you to return the favor, he was the first to attempt at a change. You could always stand by the rule of ‘an eye for an eye,’ but sometimes you need to kill the cycle before it kills you.

“Alright then,” Changbin nodded at your reply and he stood up.

“Thank you, seriously,” you said as you stood up from your seat and as he did. Confidently, you reached your arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. He pressed his hands to your back without hesitation, engulfing you fully with his (very eye-catching) arms. You could never get used to this—his hugs, absolutely god-sent.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you said, your voice muffled in his shirt.

“Always, (Name),” Changbin rubbed your back, smiling to himself. When he pulled away, he tilted his head with a question. “Wanna get out of here and go shopping?”

You smiled. Spending money? Sounds like fun.

Oh god, wait. Shopping?

Shit, you almost forgot about that generous credit card slipped sluggishly between the five one-hundred-dollar bills in your wallet. When Minho heard that you planned to hang out with Changbin today, all he did was quietly take out his wallet and flip the card out for you to take along. You planned to deny the offer at first but as soon as you caught sight of the thick blackness of the card, you knew this was no normal credit card.

No, no. That was no grocery store credit card. That card could pay off a mortgage loan in full. It was one of those reserved, royal, luxurious card made out of silk and velvet. You were too busy puking blood, sweat, and tears trying to sustain the weight of that one, stupid card that you didn’t even notice the look of dismay Minho flashed you when he reminded you to get home early.

You knew he was rich, but you didn’t know he was _this_ rich. What would be next, huh? A private zoo overlooking a private waterfall?

Changbin raised a brow at you, concern plastered on his face when he saw the uncomfortable look on your face. He stepped closer to you and asked, “Are you okay, (Name)?”

“Yeah, totally,” you nodded, “Let’s go… just remind me not to buy anything too expensive.”

He frowned in confusion, “(Name), what? You married Lee Minho, the word expensive doesn’t exist.”

Oh god, you spent so long chanting ‘eat the rich’ only to end up becoming one of them. “I don’t think it works that way, Changbin,” you laughed sarcastically before pointing to a random direction, “Can we just go get ice cream or boba. Anything normal like that.”

“Yeah–you are being really weird,” he said, patting you on the shoulder, “Are you taking the whole improving yourself thing too far?”

No, definitely not. If anything, you didn’t just need improvement, you need an upgrade.

* * *

The first thing Minho did when he got home was to look for you.

He hadn’t thought about why and what he would do, it wasn’t like you could give him a welcome kiss or anything. He just thought seeing you after an eventful day at work would be a breath of fresh air, considering for most of the day, he had been putting up a professional front. He also just wanted to thank you for the delicious lunch he spent minutes trying to figure out where he should eat it at.

He placed his shoes neatly by the door so the housekeeper would pick it up and return it back to his closet and walked over to the couch where he lightly dropped his briefcase at the corner. His eyes laid elsewhere, glancing through the kitchen and the dining area to find not one trace of human life anywhere in the living room. The house was eerily quiet too, unlike usual when you would be at home (especially not recently when you’ve started to get so talkative).

Minho heaved a sigh. You had not come back from your friendly date with Changbin yet. 

Glancing up at the television, he let a smile reach his lips as he recalled the pizza night you two had. He remembered being able to relax with you screaming and whining at the screen that night, and how he genuinely liked being able to lay back and feel nothing for a while. Heck, you even managed to get him invested in the episode half-way down. He was huffing and cursing by the end of the cliff hanger.

It was a great experience; simple and lovely. He missed it, quite a lot.

“Oh, Minho! Welcome back!”

He looked up at the housekeeper, strands of her white and black hair falling over her wrinkly face as the aftermath of domestic chores. She was wiping her hands on her jeans and she walked up to Minho, a gentle smile on her face as she said, “(Name) isn’t home yet if that is what you’re wondering.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said as he reached into his bag and pulled out the wrapped bento box, handing it to the housekeeper politely, “Oh, this is the lunch box, if you can wash it for me. Thank you.”

“So you _are_ wondering if they’re home yet?” She took the box in her hands and held it close to her chest, staying on her spot instead of heading straight to the kitchen. Her gentle smile has changed into a knowing smirk, her eyes flashing a rare mischief when she saw the way Minho stuttered with his eyes. “You don’t use to ask for them like this, do you know?”

She was the kind of lady ‘you’ couldn’t fool into thinking the marriage was a good one. Even if she had not been your housekeeper and had not been keeping a careful eye on how you and Minho interact with each other, she would have known just by watching you two stand next to each other. But she kept her mouth shut, for it wasn’t her place to say anything, and for she had faith that something would change eventually.

“Sometimes I just wanna smack you out of it. I could never understand why you were so distant before, even though I can see you are a nice person,” she added, “But I guess I can’t blame everything on you either. Your parents and their parents… they were too rash.”

Minho pouted slightly at her words. It felt like she was finding excuses for him and it felt wrong. He never knew why he acted so distant either, to be frank, he just knew he started out that way and he had stuck to it for this long. Until you suddenly changed, you had enough of him and snapped back, you took the expected affection and turned it into something he has to earn.

The lady spoke, patting his arm, “But your parents should have given you more time so you can fall in love with them too.”

Minho would have loved you normally but he was young and he was reckless with sensitivity. Suddenly tying him down with a ring, giving him no choice but to accept and act grateful—it made him go blind with stubbornness and he acted so stupidly in the relationship to prove a point that people would forever be ignorant of.

“How… “ he shook his head, “But what if I don’t fall in love with them?”

“Oh, how am I supposed to know? That is in the past now, isn’t it?” She exclaimed, the soft pats on his arm turning into a weak hit. “You enjoy their love, Minho, and you do care. You can admit that. It’s not a bad thing.”

Minho pulled on his fingers, one by one he tugged on them harshly until he reached his ring finger. A gasp breathed from his chest and never out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing uncomfortably as he recalled back when you took yours off and returned it to him. He had it stored carefully in the original box, stuffed to the front of his desk drawer in his workroom.

And suddenly, all he could focus on was to put the ring back on your finger.

A knock came from the big doors, gaining his attention immediately as he turned his head over. Dropping his hands to his side, hope swelling within him, he went over and quickly opened the door only to be left disappointed when he saw that it was Yuna standing before him instead of you. He glanced at the clock slapped around his wrist, his frown deepening as more seconds ticked by without you being home.

“Minho!”

“Hey, Yuna,” he muttered, glancing up from his watch and looking at the girl, “What is it?”

“What is up with your face, aren’t you at least a little happy to see me?” She questioned, her smile dimming with a faint scoff. She walked inside the house, closing the door on her way in.

“No, not particularly,” Minho replied honestly, sensing nothing wrong with his answer.

Yuna was used to his bluntness by now, but even then she went ahead and kept trying to shorten the bridge Minho set up between the two of them. Her progress wasn’t obvious, she couldn’t even be sure if she had made any type of progress, actually. But one thing she knew for sure was that Minho acts a hell lot more closer to her than he ever did with you. That, she could stand by.

“Bummer, I am very happy to see you–well, maybe not this time because I have something to show you,” she said, clutching her phone in her hands. Her pretty brows furrowed in a look of sympathy mixed with distaste. How she managed to put two opposite emotions together on her face was beyond imaginable but it was, undeniably, a skillset. “Did you know (Name) is out with their best friend… what’s his name? Changbin! They were together today!”

“Yeah, I am well aware of them,” Minho sighed, glancing at his watch again.

“Don’t you find their tension weird?” Yuna asked, stepping up tauntingly. “They are so close together! Honestly, if I didn’t know you two are married, I would have thought they were a couple. Especially what happened at the park today!”

Minho blinked slowly. Whatever Yuna was trying to pull here, it was definitely up to no good. He trusted you, whole-heartedly, he knew you could not go behind his back and fool around with somebody else so long as you both haven’t gotten an official divorce yet. However, even if you weren’t cheating, could you possibly be falling in love with another secretly? Yes.

And Minho was intimidated by that idea, the idea of you loving another and choosing Changbin over him.

He clenched his jaw then, gritting his teeth to keep the accusation at the tip of his tongue. Yuna raised her brows at the reaction, her chest thumping in triumph at the assumption that her plan to pin the unfaithfulness on you was working. She jumped over to Minho’s side and circled her arm through Minho’s so she could pull him down to her level, and she whipped out her phone with the gallery prepared.

Minho could barely take a glance at the first picture when the door burst open. You came waltzing into the house, a tired groan escaping your lips as you kicked your shoes off and used your feet to shove them to the side. When you finally looked back up, your gaze sharpened at the sight of Minho and Yuna before they turned curious.

“How is it I always catch you two together?” You asked as you crossed your arms.

Minho removed himself from Yuna quickly, his eyes wide in alert and his mouth hung open with a silent explanation. To see him so riled up with fear just because you saw them in a rather friendly position caused none other than jealousy within the girl standing next to him, so she huffed and retorted with her phone clutched tighter in her hand.

“You are one to talk, (Name)! You were out with Changbin the whole day today!” She flashed you her phone, “Explain this, you cheater.”

Oh, you had to laugh. Cheater, right. First of all, never in hell. You would not cheat for the fuck of it, not even when you were about to have your grade drop to a C and you have a teacher who sleeps during test times. Second of all, you forgot how quickly characters like to jump to conclusions.

All those times screaming at the screen about fake people being a, as you like to call then, stupid fucking bitch, you never thought you would get the chance to experience one.

God, let’s just hope that Minho did not take the claimed cheating evidence the wrong way or else it would be a pain in the ass trying to clarify to him that you and Changbin were nothing more than friends. That was if it wasn’t already enough pain to have to deal with the second female lead over here.

“Oh, oh yeah, I did cook lunch today. I had leftovers so I decided to share some with Changbin too, and I was being playful so I spoon-fed him like once before he smacked my hand away,” you laughed at the picture of you shoving a spoon too far down his mouth. “Hey, send this to me, will you? I can blackmail him with it, look at how ugly he looks.”

Yuna gasped in disbelief. She couldn’t ask why you were spoon-feeding him, it wasn’t like friends are banned from playfully feeding each other food. If she nitpicked on something so trivial, she would sound desperate! Oh, think Yuna, think hard and clear on how to make Minho hate (Name), remember that you were indeed very desperate!

“But–I saw you two hugging each other, look!” She swiped her phone and showed it to both you and Minho.

You wished there were cameras present for you to stare into them. It was just a hug, first of all. Secondly, need you to remind that girl the position she caged Minho in when you first saw her in the office room. Hypocritical, dumbly so! This female lead was no fun at all!

The deadpan expression on your face seemed to rub off on Minho quite a bit, as he pursed his lips together to hide a snicker at how stupid this situation was. You opened your mouth, inhaled a mouthful of air to stall time as you think of a response, and when you finally exhaled it was a defeated one.

“You got me, Yuna, you got me,” you said, nodding, “I forgot I signed the contract where I can never ever hug my best friend anymore. I am so sorry, I messed up, I was wrong.”

She dropped her arms to her side with a huff. You were right once again; something you could only say in a drama world and never in the real world, but we shall not go into that for the time being.

Anyway, it was just a hug. She could argue that it was much more than just a friendly hug but yet again, she had no reason to show for it and she didn’t want to appear desperate… even though she was, in fact, very desperate.

“If you aren’t talking then I guess it’s my turn,” you clapped your hands together at the silence. Looking at the girl, you kindly gave her a tilt of your head and a questioning gaze as you spoke, “Why do you have pictures of me and Changbin? Were you stalking me or did you pay other people to stalk me?”

Minho widened his eyes, a shocked yell erupting as he held out his hand, “Woah, (Name)! Yuna might be a little crazy but she isn’t–“

“Trust me, Minho. I have seen this scenario for at least fifty times now, it is not uncommon for the second lead to hire random, scary, useless men to take out the main lead,” you interrupted him quickly, with your palm shot out and facing him.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Yuna asked, baffled.

“Too long, don’t listen. It just means I know how to handle this,” you explained briefly before nodding at her, “Care to explain? Did you take the pictures?”

Yuna heaved a sigh, her pretty eyes staring hopelessly back at you. She glanced at Minho once even though she knew she wouldn’t receive any form of help, and when she looked back at you, she nodded, “Yeah, I did.”

Damn. That was much easier than you expected.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you said, “But I want you to know that I don’t like what you did, and I especially don’t like you accusing me of cheating when I didn’t.”

She didn’t apologize; you didn’t expect her to.

Stepping aside, you eyed Minho quickly and gestured for him to take care of the girl. He hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more than to talk to you, and he complied when you glared at him. You stood at the side, not paying attention to what Minho was saying as he walked the girl out, presumably to send her home.

“She really likes you,” you mused the first thing when Minho retuned from his mini-trip. You stirring a cup of tea in your hands, walking out of the kitchen in your slippers. When you saw the confused look Minho gave you, you shrugged, “Just an observation. Don’t tell me you never noticed?”

Minho titled his head to the side, “I don’t think too much of it.”

You hummed. These second-leads; always spending more than half of their life in love with someone only to get a “haha I don’t think too much of it” in return. Sometimes you wonder if they were created to strengthen the plot and relationships, or just to slap reality right in the face of the audiences.

Just because you love them doesn’t mean it deserves to work out for you, and most of the time it doesn’t work out for you.

“Heartbreaking,” you commented.

Minho sighed heavily, looking away to grab a mug so he could pour himself a cup of water, “Yeah.“

You eyed him carefully. Whether he was annoyed because of work or whatever just happened, you planned to clarify one thing. “I didn’t cheat, just so you know,” you said. “I never will.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. I trust you,” he said, gulping down the water and putting the mug down on the kitchen counter. He licked the droplets remaining on his lower lip and sighed. “It’s just…”

How does one talk about the feeling of jealousy without having a clear explanation as to why they feel it? How does one even talk about feeling jealous at all, it is such a taboo emotion for some reason? Minho grimaced, annoyed at himself for being unable to put his feelings into words, right now and back when he was talking with the housekeeper.

He shook his head, deciding to change the topic, “Thank you for the lunch today, I really liked it.”

A small smile appeared on your face as you pressed the lid of the mug close to your lip, not sure if you planned to drink the tea or just to have the heat stay close to your mouth so you could feel the warm humidity. “You’re welcome, I figured you’d like it since Changbin liked it too,” you said.

“Cool,” Minho laughed, a painfully obvious sarcastic tone laced all over him he wasn’t even aware he was dripping with what you could recognize as jealousy. Mildly, not too much of it, just lingering on the fact that you didn’t make the food especially for him when he thought you did.

Amusement tingled in your head and you thought hard about whether you should tease him for him. You wanted to, for sure, but with someone who has his dignity and feelings so reserved would never admit to being jealous of anything? He would be hard to tease because he would fight like hell to deny it while his ears betray him in shades of red.

You took a sip of your drink. Fine, at least you knew he felt that way. “I can make your lunch again for tomorrow,” you said casually, “I should probably count my portion right this time, wouldn’t want to make so much extra food again.”

Minho cleared his throat, a sense of giddiness bubbling up his chest but he pressed it down until he would be out of sight to celebrate this small victory by himself. Carefully placing the cup in the sink, he wiped the wetness on a towel hung on the oven handle, not looking at you as he spoke, “Yeah, sure. Thank you again.”

“No problem,” you moved over to the sink and rinsed your cup before putting it on the dish rack located just at the side.

“Yeah… um, uh, I got news today that my dad’s company is going to hold a gathering soon,” he said, his voice louder when he knew what he needed to say. He rubbed his knuckles against his pants discreetly, clearing this throat, “They basically have people working in other companies come over and each department would pitch an idea and see if they want to invest in the idea.”

You nodded, “Oh, that’s fun.”

“Yeah, and uh, I would like it if you can tag along?” He asked.

“Won’t I have to anyway?” You responded light-heartedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes and no. You don’t actually have to show up all the time, contrary to what we have been doing for almost every single company gatherings I have been to. I just want to see if you want to go this time since my dad, well, he is finally giving me a chance to pitch an idea by myself,” he muttered under his breath before quickly adding, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to! I don’t have to force you to go outside anymore.”

This felt like some type of prom proposal but a much less expected and underprepared version of it. This was the first time you have ever been asked to join anything that wasn’t a club activity or a family gathering. Although it was a company gathering, you would be attending as a plus-one and the thought of that boost your confidence quite a bit.

Besides, you would probably leave the scene half-way through and, if everything goes according to the book, Minho would follow you out and you two would bond in this magnificent garden you miraculously stumble into, one that should not exist in the middle of a vibrant city behind a company building, by the way.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you accepted, “Gonna go cheer you on, of course. Not loudly but you know.”

“Oh… okay, thanks,” he breathed out a sigh of relief at your reply, the weight dropping off his shoulders.

You turned to Minho then, a faint smile on your face due to the lack of things to say. The tension was rather awkward; you two simply stood before each other in the kitchen, with no words to say and speechless eyes focusing on each other. Minho moved after a while, his hand flying up just a fraction. He looked as though he wanted to talk but he wasn’t sure how, and so you waited for him to pull his mind together.

“Um… I just wanna say welcome home,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I was gonna greet you when you come back but… well, Yuna was here.”

Your eyes softened. Well, you’ll be. Who would have thought Minho had the ability to stir up the shy romantic in you? Cheeks slightly tinted pink, disbelief eyes darting everywhere but you, hands in pockets, and a naturally pouty lip; muttering some cheesy lines that would escalate the affection both of you feel for each other all the while trying to shard to make it seem casual! This man was a whole tsundere and you were living for it!

Laughing, you nodded as you looked around the room you have come to be more familiar with, “Thanks. I–I’m home, I guess.”

Minho quirked his lips up for a moment before his expression returned to the bewildered, confused one. His gaze was hard with uncertainty as he moved slow. His arms reaching up unconfidently, his legs wanting to bring him forward but they were unmoving. You tilted your head with squinted eyes, deciphering his movements while he huffed out curses at himself.

“Actually, nevermind,” he said, “You didn’t see anything–“

Oh, for god’s sake, (Name). Just give the poor man a hug! You want to!

“Minho,” you called to stop him before he could turn and leave, and boldly, you opened your arms, “Come here, it’s fine.”

He reluctantly moved closer to you upon the invitation. His arms carefully going around your back to engulf you in his arms, his head dipping slightly just enough to smell the lingering scent of street food you ate this afternoon. He blinked at the floor, unsure of what else he could do aside from just standing there with his arms around your torso.

“You smell like sweat, Minho,” you complained with a frown, your chin pinning down on his shoulder as you slapped his back one. “Go take a shower, I’ll make some dinner.”

Minho clicked his tongue, his brows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t mad, though; your remark made him feel less awkward if anything. Reminding him that this was just a hug, he should not have to take it so seriously like he was heading to war or something. He could do this every day if he wanted to, and he sure wanted to.

“Well, your hair smells like grilled octopus so maybe you should go deal with that too,” he said, “Did you get me some?”

“No, I didn’t know you like that,” you shrugged as you pulled away after one last smack to his back for commenting on how your hair smelled like barbecue as if you didn’t already know. “Let’s go get some next time, the two of us.”

“Sure, I know a restaurant–“

“No, Minho, I mean the street stalls kind,” you said, waving your hand, “You know? The ones in the crowded streets, the food stalls?”

“I–I do, I just don’t go to those places,” he said.

You poked your tongue against your inner cheek. Yeah, well, you should have expected that. Maybe that was where your one-minute montage would come from. You could already see the episode title: _love and food_ , where (Full Name) teaching rich man Lee Minho the art of shoving people in the streets to get to your favorite food stalls, thus making Lee Minho fall in love with you because wow, this is such a different scenario!

“Then we must go at least once, someday,” you nodded, “But for now, let’s worry about dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he said, snapping his fingers, “And I will go… take care of my body odor.”

You burst into laughter as you nodded, moving over to the refrigerator, “Yes, you do that, sweaty head. And I will deal with my hair later.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and spun on his heels. Moving out of the kitchen and back to the couch where he could get his bag, he paused for a moment when he caught the black television standing there, and a thought popped into his head.

“Hey, (Name)!” He yelled out, looking up to find you peeking out the door. He played with his fingers, “Um… should we call some takeout?”

“Oh, sure, that’d save me the effort. What do you want?” You asked, walking out of the kitchen as well, “Chinese? Thai?” You hummed with a playful smirk, “Pizza?”

You saw him smile, his eyes sparkling.

Pizza it is.

* * *

The clinking of the teaspoon was rhythmic as you stirred the cup of jasmine tea in the quiet kitchen. Night has descended long ago; the housekeeper and driver had already returned to their home, you just peeled off your face mask and you could still feel the essence on your skin, the living room was dark with only the kitchen light illuminating the area. It was one of those silent times in a day where you look around and it hits you once again that you were someplace else.

But this house, it wasn’t a stranger to you anymore. This house was where you slept in for weeks, where you ate pizza and cooked meals you could never imagine having the time to cook, where you found yourself gradually approaching the mortifying idea that was falling in love with another being.

Blowing air out of your lips, you groaned at the thought. Falling in love; you have fanaticized about it so long yet it never really happened. The deepest form of affection you have ever felt was classmate crushes and celebrity admiration, nothing stronger than that has ever occupied your heart before.

And you were never sure if you wanted anything more than that, ever, because you have always been afraid of rejection, of the one-sided love television talked so much about.

And it wasn’t just the rejection, it was all those witching hours spent being cautious and overthinking every interaction you make with the other person, imagining scenarios that you already deemed impossible, wondering if you should fall in love or if you are worth being fallen in love with.

But the rejection part wouldn’t apply to you in this situation since you and Minho were already married, not to mention he was trying to become a better person for you, therefore you shall have no problem going forward from here… alright, maybe you would have some trouble with showing affection but that wouldn’t be because you don’t accept Minho and only because you were never taught how to properly reciprocate another’s love.

“Made you jasmine tea, you lame-a-thon!”

Minho looked up from his desk with a deadpan expression. You and your nicknames just get worse and worse as time passes, and he painfully awaits the day when you finally unleash the worst nickname you could muster. When you saw his frown, you hummed, “Oh, stop that frown, boy. Your face will get stuck like that.”

You kept telling him that and he knew for a fact that it is impossible for facial expressions to be stuck on his face. Yet, every time you tell him that, he found himself whole-heartedly trusting you for just a second and he would revert to a neutral expression. It was stupid, it was the kind of stupid only you could bring out in him.

“You should go to sleep, (Name),” Minho received the tea gratefully, giving you a nod of acknowledgment. His eyes bounced down to the pattered mason jar you were holding and he tilted his head, holding up his own mug, “How come you get a pretty jar and I just get a white mug?”

You shook your jar, “Mine is iced, yours is hot. Hot drinks and glass jars? Not cute. Iced drinks and glass jars with staws? Very cute.” You took a sip of your fruit juice before pulling the straw away and added with a giggle, “Also, you don’t look like someone who would use something like this.”

“Judging a book by its cover now, huh? I see,” he rolled his eyes and returned to his papers.

You decided to stay at home with him too, the idea only floating out of your head during the third day when you impulsively knocked on his workroom and sat down on the couch with a random book you pulled from the bookshelf. He let you sit there with him in silence, the only sound reverberating around the room were papers turning, keyboards typing, and an occasional chatter about the book you were reading.

You decided to stay at home with him too, the idea only floating out of your head during the third day when you impulsively knocked on his work room and sat down on the couch with a random book you pulled from the bookshelf. He let you sit there with him in silence, the only sound reverberating around the room were papers turning, keyboards typing, and an occasional chatter about the book you were reading.

Minho wondered why he has never done this before. He always thought he liked to work alone, and he still does. But having you stay in the same room with him felt more comforting than the deafening silence he has to face whenever he allows him a moment to rest. He could look up and be reminded that someone is there with him, and that defeats the hidden loneliness he never liked to confront.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” You asked, grimacing. Not sure why you felt the need to urge Minho to stop working when you were also one to sit in front of a computer with papers piling up at your work desk too. It was always much easier to point a bad habit out for somebody else than yourself, you supposed. “You’ve been here the whole day.”

Minho shook his head, pouting slightly, “No. I’ll be done with it when I feel like I’m done for today.”

“Are you slacking behind?”

“No,” he said in a soft whisper, glaring up at you for even thinking he would let himself fall behind.

You sneered and removed yourself from his desk. Walking back to the couch you’ve sat on for days, staring at a book or scrolling on your phone, you jumped back on top and placed your drink on the lamp table just behind your head. Laying your body down and extending your legs, you grabbed the thick book and opened it once again to pick up where you left off.

Minho glanced up at you, a gentle smile quirking on his lips and his hands slowing down with the papers. He never noticed it, but the couch was placed at the perfect angle for him to look at. Even if you caught him staring, he could always laugh it off as him looking at the clock just above you on the wall. It was perfect, very discreet, and wish-fulfilling.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?” He asked, breaking the silence.

You didn’t bother to take your eyes off the book but you had stopped reading the lines. You shook your head, “No, I don’t feel like leaving you here alone with the clock ticking. Also, this book is interesting. I want to finish it quickly so I can grab another one.”

“Huh? What is it about?”

“Some random Math shit? I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention to the context, I just like to read the words,” you said, looking over at him with confident eyes briefly before going back into the book, where you would be saying the words and not stringing them together to make any sense. “It makes me feel smart when I read them.”

He chuckled at your response, his brow arching slightly at the unpredictability of your actions. He made no further comment, letting himself dive back into work as he planned to. Time flew quickly when he was focused, and another hour passed before he knew it.

When he granted himself another break for his eyes and neck, he could see that the time was inching closer to sunrise, and when he cast his gaze downwards, he could find you sleeping with the book open on your chest.

Dropping everything at his fingertips, he stood up slightly to give himself a clearer look. Your breathing was slow and your eyes were closed. You also have not been making any comments for the past hour so that should be enough indication for him that you had fallen asleep.

Fully standing up now, Minho walked out of his desk so he could approach the couch where you laid. He glanced down at you, debating whether he should wake you up or carry you back to your room.

He grimaced. It would be best to wake you up, right? What if you didn’t want him to bridal-style carry you? But he also didn’t want to disturb you from your sleep either, you looked so peaceful! Minho paced back and forth across the floor, his index nail stuck between his teeth as his eyes shook with thoughts.

God, you would laugh so hard if you knew he did this—what a dilemma! Do you or do you not carry your spouse back to their bed when they have fallen asleep?

Just carry them back, Minho, stop worrying.

He paused in his track, his eyes rolling up at the ceiling with a faint murmur, “Carry them…?”

Uh, yes, Minho. That was what I said.

Minho frowned with a scratch on the back of his neck, but he complied with the voice in his head and moved back to the couch. He crouched down to your level and carefully removed the book from your hand. You stirred, causing him to freeze immediately, but there was nothing more than that, thankfully. He dropped the book on the carpet floor before he fumbled around in the air with his unsure hands, not sure where to place them.

Alright, calm down a moment, Minho.

Breathing out slowly, he attempted to calm his messy mind as he let his arms drop back to his side and he stayed in the crouching position. Minho’s gaze blinked over to your face and his heart softened. This utterly relaxed, unguarded face of yours was one of the many faces Minho loved about you; even though it might take him some time to get around to that strong word, he wasn’t denying how much he felt a genuine fondness over it.

At moments like these, when you couldn’t hear him, Minho thought he would spill his deepest darkest secrets to you or even confess the inner feelings he got. Maybe about he honestly would much prefer to have a cup of water instead of tea, or maybe about how he kind of preferred Chinese food over pizza after you made him eat General Tso with rice that one time, or even about how he really enjoyed walking through the night street with you even though he had protested going outside the other night.

But he didn’t. He just watched, trying to match your breathing with his own, trying to keep the gentle back of his fingers to himself instead of running it down your cheek.

It was supposed to happen this way, the cliché scene where one watches the other sleep. When did such a quiet, loving moment become a laughing stock? Did people forget that it has always just been about the serenity of watching a loved one breathe so peacefully and finding immense solace in the idea that they will be there with you until the night comes and the morning sunrises?

What is so cliché about feeling at ease with a loved one by your side?

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” Minho smiled to himself when you stirred once more on the couch. He finally slipped his hands under your legs and your torso, making sure he found the right place before he pulled you up. However, instead of hoisting you up into his arms, your breathing quickened in the wake of being disturbed and you were quick to open your heavy eyes.

Minho whispered out a laugh, “Hey… good morning.”

You furrowed your brows. That was Minho, you knew even though your mind was too groggy to make out his face. You couldn’t even see those pretty of his with your eyes half-opened and your brain not functioning normally. You just knew you were exhausted and you wanted nothing more than to head back to sleep.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, shifting your weight so you could turn to him and rolling straight into his embrace.

He sat back against his feet, a startled groan paired with the curling of his arms when you hugged him by the neck and laid your face at the crook of it. He froze for a minute, wondering if you planned to move at all only to find that you were asleep once again. Looking around the room, he flashed a hopeless look, asking for help from above.

The above won’t answer you, but I could help, I suppose. _Sigh_ … what would you both do without me?

Just lay down and rest, Minho. It’s about time you sleep too.

Minho like this lower lip, the hot breathes fanning against his skin disarming all the walls he has ever built up to guard his heart that thumped heavily in his chest. Oh, how crazy it was! He felt both giddy and baffled at the same time, loving this yet fearing this!

Carefully standing up, he held you close to his chest and moved the both of you back on the couch, where he tried to slide underneath your body first before laying you down.

“Jesus, Minho, stop fucking moving,” you squeezed his neck lightly as your irritated voice echoed into his ears.

He apologized with a nod, toning down the wriggling of his body as he wrapped you up in his arms and, cautiously, placed one leg on top of yours to secure your position. He gulped and exhaled. This was the first time he has ever been this close to someone and it would be the first time he has ever slept in a cuddle position.

The heaving of your chest was pushing against his, reminding him to breathe. He held you close, the corner of his heart filling up the tighter his grip on yours was. He thought you would whine about it again, smacking him and telling him to loosen his grip.

He waited until that moment for a long time. It never came.

* * *

The gathering was as extravagant as you expected it to be but it was definitely much more wedding-like than you anticipated. People were leaving their expensive cars left and right at the drop-off area, some greeting each other while some walking straight into the building due to the evening cold.

Seeing the obnoxiously loud interactions of other rich families, you grimaced with a firm reminder of what goal you set for yourself this night: smile and nod, pretend you know the people and fake an emergency for escape!

“I thought this gathering is just for business people,” you muttered to Minho when he led you into the building.

He looked around with a blank expression, his eyes tired and his heart hammering loudly in his ears upon the bright setting. “Yeah but they bring extra people,” he replied with a low gruff, annoyed and not trying to hide it.

You glanced at his face. He has had this same painful expression on his face for the whole day, it has been here since the morning when you got down to the kitchen and found him devouring a piece of toast with looking at the script he prepared for the presentation. You figured he was just nervous, after all, he did mention how important this opportunity was for him. His father was finally allowing him to contribute instead of simply sitting in on meetings and critiquing others’ work.

He was finally stepping out of his father’s shadow and showcase his mind. You recognized how important that was so, not wanting to disturb him, you had chosen to keep a good distance for today and only encourage him on before he has to go on stage to present his idea for the company.

Instead of bothering him with your unnecessary commentary about the place, you have decided to keep it all to yourself as you observed your surroundings while following his lead into the gathering hall. There wasn’t much you could say about places as such because you were, for one, inexperienced when it came to excessive places like this. Bright lights, velvet carpet, wide stairs, and marble columns decorated with white flowers.

Honestly, this could really pass for a wedding venue if you didn’t know any better. If they got porcelain white napkins hidden somewhere inside, you’d probably be stuffing some in your pockets just for the fun of it.

It would be the closest you’d ever come to actually eating the rich; you would be stealing from them. They were not very similar in action, but at least you’d be doing something, unlike those who were often all bark and no bite.

Minho could feel the burning pit in his stomach growing the more he stepped closer to the actual venue. Pressing a hand to his abdomen in hopes to calm himself down, he spared a glance your way and let out a curious a chuckle when he saw the way you were examining the place—with focused eyes, like you have arrived at a crime scene and you wanted to find hidden clues left by the criminal.

This was the first time he has seen you react like this, funnily enough, you were never bothered by rich-looking places. But it was a sight for sore eyes, his sore eyes, and perhaps his sore heart too. He felt like he was about to die from nervousness despite all the times he spent preparing for this moment.

It was too significant for him not to feel anxious over how he could potentially fuck up. Looking at you took those thoughts away for a brief moment before it hit back at him again, and he returned to that stoic expression he had earlier.

“Oh, you are finally here!”

Minho’s mother opened her arms as she approached him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down to hug him better. You smiled at them from behind, your hands clasped at the front and waiting for her to notice you first. And she did, immediately after she sent Minho away to find his father, she gave you the same enthusiastic response and hugged you tight like she hasn’t seen you in years.

“I am so glad you came, somebody needs to be here and cheer my boy on,” she laughed, moving over to the long table filled with treats and drinks. “He has never dealt well with stage fright, unless when he is dancing, then he just turns into this whole other person!”

“Oh, I see–excuse me, what?” You paused in the middle of your sentence, your eyes blinking in disbelief as you turned to her. Forget the almond cookies and the chocolate cupcakes lined up waiting to be greeted by the impending death! Minho and dancing? That was the real deal, you’ve got to get as much information on that as you could!

“Dancing! (Name), you know this! Minho used to dance when he was younger but he stopped when he started university!” She said, hitting your forearm.

“Of–of course! I haven’t seen him dance in a long time, I kind of forgot what it looks like anymore,” you giggled, causing her to scoff.

“Why didn’t you just ask? I have so many videos saved, I can just send them to you when I have time,” she said, to which you beamed. That must be a sight to behold; you wondered if Minho never talked about it because he was embarrassed by it? But then again, judging by the tone of voice his mother was using, she was more proud than amused.

As she looked away at the stage, a nostalgic smile on appeared her face. “He was always so excited to dance. Sometimes I wonder if he would have gone with that path instead of this if his father didn’t force him to quit dancing.”

You hummed in thoughts, wondering the same question. He seemed rather intent with what he has right now, not to mention he was far too determined and hard-working for someone who doesn’t like their job. But that wouldn’t eliminate the possibility that he didn’t choose this for himself. Perhaps you should ask when you get the chance, maybe after the gathering is done and he is back in a good mood again.

“Oh, (Name), I’ve got to leave for a moment,” she patted your arm to inform you, pointing her finger at a group of older ladies sitting around a table.

“Okay, have fun!” You nodded.

“Good,” she said, her smile dimming slightly before she walked closer to you. When she spoke, she was whispering, “Did you and Minho fight again? Where is your ring?”

You gasped. You almost forgot about that! Looking away, you cursed yourself for never asking Minho for the ring back. You would be more than happy to put it back on your finger now, considering how you and Minho were getting along splendidly.

Witty remarks were thrown at each other, but there were also hints of care and affection left here and there; you two were simultaneously hatching down each others’ emotional walls, waiting to meet each other at the very core of your beings eventually.

“No, we didn’t,” you pulled at your fingers and laughed, genuinely, “I took it off when I was cooking earlier this week and I think I misplaced it. I haven’t been able to find it since then, but I will make sure to double-check again.”

She was quick to breathe out a sigh of relief, “Ah, and I was over here wondering what he did this time! You got me on my toes ever since you asked me about a divorce.”

“No, no, everything is much better now,” you smiled, biting your lower lip as your mind filled up with Minho’s image. “I think I… “ you cleared your throat, “Like you said, I loved him through it.”

Ah, you almost said it, (Name)! It was a close one but no worries, there is always next time. Just make sure you won’t be too late for it.

Her smile widened at your words, her eyes glistening in threatening tears. She held your hands, “That’s great, that is all I want to hear.”

She gave your hand one last squeeze before she bid you another farewell and left your side. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel too anxious having to fend for yourself in a crowd of strangers. For one, you thought if you stuffed your face with enough food, people would leave you alone. For two, your mood was heightened so much after having a talk about Minho, from knowing about his previous dancing passion to indirectly admitting your feelings for him.

It made you feel all jittery inside, your heart beating like jelly, sweet and weak.

Facing the sea of sweets laid out in front of you, you quickly reached out for the nearest cookie plate and stuffed two almond cookies into a napkin you grabbed from the corner. When you were done, you looked up and scanned the place for a quiet corner where you could eat your snack in peace. There seemed to be none, this place was riddled with rich people talking and bragging and whining.

Taking a bite of your cookie, you squinted your eyes in hopes to find traces of Minho anywhere. At a time like this, talking to strangers would be inevitable, and if you were going to do that, you would much rather do it with him by your side.

At least he could carry or save the conversation if you started to act weird and say poor, irrelevant things these people wouldn’t understand, like how you like to buy fruits wholesale and that thousand dollars mini purse were just so not worth it, ma’am! What the hell do you have in there? Air?

Speaking of mini purses. Your bored gaze trailed across the top of people’s heads until they settled on a familiar someone. You hummed curiously, casting your gaze a little to the side and bingo! There Minho was, as you expected, you were bound to find Minho around if you see Yuna.

Swallowing the cookie and stuffing the remaining one into your pocket after wrapping it up neatly in the napkin, you quickly made your way across the hall where those two stood talking.

When Minho saw you approaching, he first breathed out a sigh of relief. He had been trying to get rid of Yuna but it was to no avail. Not saying the girl was persistent in her chattering but because his mind was too hazy to think about anything to say, he could only glare hard at her in hopes to focus at least a little in the one-sided conversation.

Yuna should have probably guessed from his eyes that he wanted to take a break but you really shouldn’t expect much from her, she’s a bit stubborn.

She stopped abruptly when she saw Minho turn to the side, a groan leaving his lips. His heavy steps made his way over to you, her brows furrowing as she sucked in a puff of air after she noticed your presence. You laughed in startlement when he placed a hand on your shoulder, ready to give him a snarky remark when he suddenly dropped his head down to your shoulder and rested there.

You caught Yuna’s eyes without him blocking your view, the dissatisfied look on her face sending a shiver down your spine. Way to make yourself on top of her blacklist, not that you cared much but under a setting like the one you’ve been forced to live in? It would not hurt to plan for some mafia shit that may or may not happen. 

“Woah, Minho, feeling a little too nervous, are we?” You asked, your hand flying up to the back of his neck so you could give him a comforting pat.

As soon as your hand touched his skin, it flinched back on instinct at the burning hot sensation. You grimaced, confused, and very concerned. Where did the sudden heat come from? Pressing your palm to the back of his neck again, your faint grimace turned into a deep frown as you patted against him a few times before pulling away to look at him.

“Minho, you’re burning up,” you said as you pushed him up from your shoulder. Your hand went to his forehead despite his protest and back to your own for comparison, not that it was much needed because he was very obviously heating up. You focused on him, watching his chest heave and down slowly like he was trying to take very deep breathes, and his eyes were struggling to open. “Shit, you’re having a fever.”

Ah, now his gloomy moods made sense, although it was quite a shock that he just suddenly came down with a fever like this, there were no signs of it just this morning. He probably accumulated too much stress these weeks of him isolating himself in the workroom, not to mention the nervousness that built up to today adding more weight to his health.

Before Minho could say anything, there was a muffled clap echoing through the hall. The speakers were turned up for the host standing in the middle of the stage with a microphone in hand, a podium next to him ready for the speakers to go up. He cleared his throat and welcomed everyone in a cheery tone before asking the guests to return to their assigned seats.

You pursed your lips, a sudden tinge of uncertainty flowing into your mind. You forgot he was supposed to go up this evening. “You can’t go up there like this, you should go home,” you suggested, giving him a rather commanding glare.

He shook his head, rubbing the side of his temple as he squished his eyes tight. “No, I have to… I have to do this tonight,” he said, “It’s fine, I can endure it until the end of the presentation.”

“But–“

“(Name),” he took a deep breath and smiled at you. He stood up straight, breathed in deep, and kept that smile on his face. Forcing his eyes open, he looked back at you and nodded in confirmation, “I’m going to be fine. I just needed a little rest from the noise. We can leave immediately after I’m done, I promise.”

You bit the inner part of your bottom lip, still unsure and wondering if you should insist on going home early. Him being sick was one thing, but another thing was that you did not want to be the person who ruins his opportunity to show himself in front of important figures within his community.

He worked so hard for today, maybe you should put some faith in him when he told you he could make it till the end of his pitch presentation.

Minho relaxed when you placed your hand on his cheek, ever so slightly he leaned against your palm to feel its softness. You almost laughed at his reaction, just a light-hearted laugh that shows nothing more than how fond of him you have become. Stroking his cheek with his thumb, you nodded, “Okay then.”

Ah, so sweet. What a miracle that nobody was paying attention to the two of you standing at one corner of the hall, drowned in each others’ eyes like the sun drowns in the sky. It was the exact manifestation of that description where your surroundings go white and it is as if nobody is there. And instead of a kiss, you just have your hand on his cheek.

Get to your damn seats, the story cannot go on without you both at your assigned spots.

The introduction going into the line-up for each presentation prepared for this gathering was boring at best. You were too busy making sure Minho was really feeling okay as he told you that you paid little to no attention to what the host was saying on stage. When his name was called up, you flashed him one last concerned look only to get an assuring smile in return.

His steps felt heavy as he moved away from the table and up to the stage. His mind spinning with words from the script he prepared for himself days earlier and memorized within a night’s time. It would be a shame if he messed up or suddenly forget what to say, but he was prepared enough to be able to improvise. He knew his own ideas and materials. 

The only trouble he really needed to conquer was—

Minho closed his eyes immediately when the spotlight flashed at his face without warning. He sucked in through gritted teeth, his eyes burning from the unwanted brightness and his mind feeling jumpier than ever at the stimulation.

—the threatening spotlight, the sea of eyes, the hammering in his ears, the microphone that accentuated his heavy breathing, his sweaty palms, his shaky voice when he started to speak, his warm forehead.

It just hit him how hard this would be. The stage fright paired with his weak body felt like an immortal enemy. Before he knew it, his eyes were closing and he was stumbling on his spot, and then all of a sudden, his knees buckled in the most graceful way possible and he fell to the side.

* * *

The first thing Minho saw when he opened his eyes again was those annoying lights attached to his bedroom ceiling. Immediately closing his eyes, he let out a faint groan and shifted his position on the bed so he could sit upon the soft mattress. The fabric of his clothes changed from a rough blazer of his suit to his smooth pajama, he could feel it by grabbing a fistful of his pants as he sat up.

Sensing movement from the bed, you looked up from your phone and immediately broke into a smile when you saw that Minho was awake. Getting up from your seat, you moved over to the edge of his bed and leaned against the side of it to look at him, “Good morning to you. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he muttered, feeling completely out of it. He was trying to remember what happened before he blacked out, mainly whether he made it through the end of his presentation or if he just fainted in the middle of it. The more he tried to use his head, the more nauseated he felt. 

In the midst of his heavy thoughts, he felt your fingers gently brushing against his bangs to move them out of his eyes, and he jolted back to reality in order to give you a smile.

“I know you are. Who wouldn’t, honestly?” You huffed, recalling in fast-forward motion of how you and he spent the past weeks in his office room.

Guilt slowly wrapped around your heartstrings then, making you wonder if you should have taken better care of him despite his persistent to work on the pitch proposal, or if you should have stopped him from going up the stage earlier. Yet none of those would compare to the panic you felt when he dropped to the ground.

The feeling was quick to leave as you figured out the negativity wasn’t what Minho needed at the moment, and you reverted back to your old, laid-back self by giving his forehead a flick of your fingers, earning a surprised yelp from him. “Also, if you are wondering, I changed you out of your clothes,” you said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t try and see anything. I am very noble.”

Minho lacked the energy to roll his eyes but he did giggle, leaning his head against the headboard with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he glanced over at you to find you staring right at him. Your brows arched questioningly at his silence, and the more he kept quiet the more you could feel a blush gushing up your cheeks.

Putting your hands on your hips, you tapped your feet against the floor to feign annoyance as you tilted your head at him, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Oh, please, you knew why he was looking at you with those sparkly eyes of his, gleaming with a kind of adoration no other has held for you. In most cases, quiet moments like these have the two main characters both looking at each other. One acting confused while the other filled to the brim with love. Since you were the oblivious one, Minho would be the latter.

You knew that. You just didn’t want to admit to knowing it on your own because for one, it might make you look conceited, and for two, what if you were jumping way ahead of yourself? That would be very humiliating for you, (Name). That was if you hadn’t already done that by asking such a stupid fucking question, one that requires a type of response you wouldn’t be able to conjure up immediately.

Instead of replying, all Minho did was reach his arm out so he could grab your hand. You laughed in bewilderment, trying to peel yourself away from his touch but finding yourself complying with what he wanted. Your body moved on its own, scooting closer and lowering your arm so he has easier access to your hand. The laughter died down as soon as it started, leaving its job for the blush that tainted your face.

Could you feel it? That sense of vexation rising in your chest when you realized all those times you spent criticizing characters for acting awkward in romantic situations had just backfired on you dramatically because you acted just like them all.

Blushing, wordless, shivers in the heart you couldn’t control—completely at Minho’s mercy despite him doing the bare minimum.

This tenderness was as new to you as it was to Minho. His heart He hadn’t touched anyone like this before. Surely, he was never rough with anybody or anything, but holding you was a different kind of gentleness he has never expressed before.

It wasn’t just for the sake of not being bearish. It was being soft so he doesn’t hurt or break, it was being soft so it isn’t just a touch but a cradle and a caress, it was being soft so he becomes as sensitive as you. Touching you is like touching porcelain; he does it softly so he won’t break nor crack nor crease you, and he does it softly so he won’t run the risk of cutting himself with you.

This was what he missed out on all those years. When he thought back to it, only regret clouded his mind, but he has changed along with you when you did, and everything felt okay now.

Just one more thing, though.

You could feel his eyes burning at your hand, and once again you were reminded of the lack of diamond ring on your fourth finger. “Oh! The ring! I–ahh–I was going to ask you for it but I never got around to it so,” a wave of panic arose as you yelped, startling Minho. “If you will give it to me again, I will be more than happy to wear it back, Minho.”

He tightened his grip on your hand, pursing his lips as he looked up at you, “Of course, it’s in my–“

“Minho!”

The door burst open, causing both of you to glance over at the door. Minho’s mother came rushing into the room, her face riddled with concern. When she saw Minho awake and smiling, she breathed out a sigh and walked in with a hand on her chest. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Minho replied quickly, “Tried but I am fine, mom. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you sure? You fainted back there, it was really bad,” she pressed on, moving closer. “Everybody was shocked!”

When you saw how his brow creased and his jaw clenched at her words, you cleared your throat and waved your hand to deescalate the tension, “Actually–it wasn’t like, _that_ bad, you know?”

“I am sure, mom, I promise,” Minho reassured, his voice right and weaker all of a sudden. “I am gonna be back on my feet in no time.”

She worriedly glanced over at you for confirmation and you nodded in return. Then she broke into a faint smile, unclenching her fist and letting it fall to her side. “Oh, good. Thank you so much for taking care of Minho for me, (Name),” she thanked, then she looked away from the both of you and stared right ahead at the window, “If there are no more problems then I should take my leave–“

“Mom,” Minho cut her off. You could finally sense it now, the hidden urgency in his voice. Looking over at him, you found that his eyes were shivering widely, like he was afraid, and his grip on your hand has gotten loose as his concentration averted to his mother. “Where is dad?”

She was visibly uncomfortable now. You breathed in deeply, a revelation exploding in your head.

How the hell did you think you could get away with this trope? The man with daddy issue. Or just parental issues in general but this one was so obviously father problems! You cursed inwardly, ears perked up to listen to their conversation while your mind raced to figure out a solution as you did so.

Here is the thing about parental issues in dramas. When it is about the mother, it is often directed at the female counterpart and very easy to solve as long as the main lead is very headstrong about what they want. When it is about the father, however, it is usually directed at the male counterpart and much harder to get over. It becomes less of a marriage problem or an argument about a potential romantic interest.

It is work ethics, dignity, power, and money! It is about their child not having the intellect to follow in their footsteps, about their child not wanting to follow in their footsteps. Fathers are special, they are weird. They are stubborn and annoying, and you never liked shitty father figured in fiction.

“He doesn’t want to see you, Minho,” she spoke comfortingly. When your words are deafening, the only thing you can possibly do is lower your voice, and even then it may not work the way you want them to. “I tried getting him out of the car but

You dropped your jaw. The curse words were much louder now, you could practically play a game of word chain all on your own.

“You fainted in the middle of it. He was expecting you to hang on and finish the presentation,” she went on. “But you didn’t.”

Minho’s heart dropped. So he didn’t finish it after all.

“What the fu–“ you pursed your lips and pulled yourself away from Minho. Oh, you were angry, possibly even beyond that. How could his father be so apathetic towards his son’s health? Looking down at Minho, the tears brimming at his waterline made your inside burn, it felt like you were the one being neglected and unfairly treated.

You sucked in a breath, your eyes blinking rapidly for no reason (it’s for comedic purposes). Then suddenly, you smiled and pointed your index finger towards the door, “I think I left the faucet on so I am just gonna go turn that off, okay? You two talk, I am gonna go.”

Your behavior was abnormal at best, which honestly, the other two in the room would have thought they would be used to it by now. Before any of them could open their mouth, and before your cowardly mind decided to not do anything about this situation, you dashed out of the door and headed downstairs.

You flung the doors open dramatic and, very angrily, growled when you saw the overly expensive car parked out at the driveway. Rushing outside, you made a stupid of appearing by the driver’s seat. When the driver rolled down the window, you breathed out an annoyed sigh, feeling like your anger was about to explode in a pit of curses and tears.

What the–piece of shit! Why buy an expensive car if you aren’t going to drive it yourself? Useless, showoff, pointless, worthless, a waste of money! Nobody thinks you’re cool, you hag, you can’t even drive and you conform to the discriminative lifestyle of capitalism!

“(Name)?”

“Y–yeah?”

Wow. You have been doing so well up until now but you really are all bark and no bite, huh? Your anger immediately dissolved when you met eyes with the tall, old man who exited on the passenger side of the car. You gasped. He looked so much nicer than you expected he would; if you didn’t know the title he holds, you would not have felt this intimidated.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, walking over to you.

“Honestly?” You said, clearing your throat. You inhaled deeply and calmed yourself down to conjure up some coherent sentences. “I am here to… ask you politely to visit Minho, who is your son, which means he is your flesh and blood… because he is your child… like, he is your son, you know?”

He furrowed his brows at you and he sighed curiously, “Are you feeling okay, (Name)?”

“I will be if you can follow me and go see if Minho is doing okay,” you said, smiling.

There was a knowing look on his face, then he dipped his head to look at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, he shook his head, “No. I am very disappointed in him right now and I am afraid I will say what I don’t mean when I see him.”

“Disappointed about what? The fact that he got sick?” You retorted.

“I gave him one job and he embarrassed me in front of a lot of people tonight,” he said, “You wouldn’t understand, (Name).”

You opened your mouth but only air came out as you carefully analyzed what he actually meant. Oh, this fucker wanted to say you don’t understand what it is like to be a functional member of society and work for money because you lay around at home all day, draining Minho’s bank account.

Well then, he has got another thing coming because you used to be in the workforce as well! You used to work day and night, and even then you could never achieve the kind of luxury his family has so honestly, you’ve got the upper-hand in this argument.

You just needed to find a way to tell him you do know how hard work is without actually telling him that you’ve ever worked before!

So basically you’re not telling him anything at all.

Holding in an outburst, you forced a smile and clapped your hands together so you wouldn’t end up strangling anybody tonight. “Maybe I don’t understand, but I do know that Minho worked really hard for this opportunity,” you said, pleaded even, “The reason why he fainted was that he didn’t let himself rest at all preparing for the presentation. You can’t disregard his effort just like that. You are his father, where is your care?”

“You’re bold, (Name),” he said after a moment of silence, his tone making it impossible for you to decipher whether he meant that as a compliment or not. “But no. This is work, this is about his future and how he will handle the company when I am gone. I can’t act as his father in a situation like this.”

You were rendered speechless. It was either you smack some sense into him or you talk some sense into him, but it seemed like you weren’t smart enough to talk to him so that left the more physical option. You shivered. You weren’t ready to be put in jail yet, so the physical option was out the window too. 

You bit your lower lip. But Minho. He worked so hard for this, and you were there to watch him work like hell for it. If he was bedridden and couldn’t do anything about this, you thought you could at least try a little harder for his sake. But how? How could you explain it more clearly to him that he should give Minho another chance?

Time’s ticking, (Name). Maybe think a little bit faster? I’ll even drop you a hint—since you’ve been there with him as he prepared for the presentation, surely you would know where Minho placed his stuff, right?

You gasped, a light-bulb going off in your eyes. Wordlessly, you spun on your heels and left the old man standing there in confusion, watching your back as you bolted back into the house. You slammed the doors shut, kicked off the shoes you did not bother to wear properly, and you rushed upstairs.

Stopping abruptly before the workroom you were so used to being in, you opened the door and went straight to the desk where there was a stack of papers.

You may not have known what he worked on exactly, but you did remember complaining about the number of papers Minho was using back then. You told him something about trees dying and he only laughed, already used to ignoring you and your tendencies to ramble about anything. There has got to be some information contained in that pile of papers he printed, right? You didn’t know what was in there but it wouldn’t be your job to look through them.

You grabbed the whole pile, scooping it up into your hands after scanning it quickly, and you rushed out of the door like a madman, almost. Your steps echoed throughout the hall and you quickly walked downstairs, preparing to head outside when the housekeeper stopped you with an incredulous look on her face.

She looked you up and down, concerned, and she asked, “(Name), what are you doing running around like that?”

“I need to show Mr.Lee something,” you urged, glancing out the doors.

“Mrs.Lee? I’m pretty sure they’re leaving, though. Mrs.Lee just left the house!”

Oh great, here we go! We’ve all seen the running in slow motion part in dramas, it was about time your turn comes up.

You gasped out a curse, surprised at how much this shit does not make sense because you really thought you were only in the workroom for less than one minute and you never bumped into his mother when you walked back in and out! How could she possibly be out of the house already? Through the window? Through teleportation? Through—Jesus Christ, (Name), stop talking and start running!

You went for the door and yelled when you saw the taillights of the car flash red. Whatever that meant, you didn’t know, you never learned how to drive! But you supposed it meant the car was being started and they were about to leave this place, so you rushed even quicker than before. You got down the porch of the house and sped through the long driveway, your hand clutching the papers closer to your chest.

You ran, and you tripped! You groan at your inability to keep your feet on the ground as you scrambled up and continued running. At this point, you were just trying your best to be thankful that your tripping-during-an-emergency scene didn’t involve running away from serial killers or mafia members.

“Wait! Wait a second! Stop driving, car driver!” You yelled as you, miraculously, moved past the car and stopped right before the tip of the vehicle.

It came to a screeching stop, the driver looking at you with wide, shocked eyes as sweat rolled down the side of his face. The headlights were blinding your eyes but you kept them open for intimidating purposes this time, and you huffed out in triumph when both his parents walked out of the car, both in complete awe at your action.

“What the hell are you thinking–“

“Here, take this,” you said as you shoved the pile of papers into Mr.Lee’s hands, “The proposal. I don’t know how much of it is in here but it’s your job to look through it.”

He gave you an annoyed glare, “I already said–“

“I am telling you this as an intellectual,” you grimaced a little. That was not quite true but you kept going, “I believe that as a businessman, you should never let any opportunity slip from your hands, especially ones that can help boost your company’s… uh… stock? Either way! Just because Minho never got to present the idea does not mean he doesn’t have a good idea. You have eyes and a brain, look through it and see for yourself.”

You were glaring at him, not in a hateful way but more so in hopes that you could pressure him into accepting your suggestion. To be fair, you did make a point, as much as he didn’t want to admit. And you also did not sound as confused and repetitive as you did earlier when you came to him.

Oh, and of course, you got in front of a moving car just to get him to look through Minho’s proposal.

Looking down at the papers in his hands, he let out a low gruff and finally nodded, “Fine. Now get back inside, I wanna go home!”

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding—ah, yes, _that_ breath—and clapped your hands together in a delightful beam. Finally! All those running and panicking and raging was worth this moment of acceptance, or at least the half-way point of acceptance! After bidding both of the elderlies goodbye, you quickly rushed back into the house with the two eyeing your back.

Hmm, I guess you did have it in you, huh?

* * *

“Hey, I got you some food,” you said when you nudged open the door with your food after struggling to remove your hand from the wooden food tray just to twist the doorknob. The housekeeper had pulled you back in the living room and made you take the Minho’s dinner with you, figuring he would appreciate it more to see you than anyone else at the moment.

Minho turned to you, his eyes unfocused and his thought process uninterrupted. He was still drowning in a saddened state of mind; his whole body felt heavy from both the fever and the shame he felt from disappointing his father. Trying his best to clear his sight, he managed to send you a very faint smirk as you approached.

After clearing out space on the nightstand, you carefully set the wooden tray down and pulled the chair closer to the bed, the one you sat on when he was still out cold. You sat down, clapped your hands, and went ahead to grab the bowl of chicken porridge so you could hand it to him.

Minho looked at you, and down at the bowl, and he blinked in bafflement. As he reached his finger up to point at himself, he finally breathed out a short chuckle, “Am I supposed to eat it myself?”

“Am I supposed to eat it for you?” You asked, widening your eyes pointedly as you pushed your arm forward a little more for emphasis.

He huffed in disbelief, “But I’m sick.”

“So eat your dinner! You can’t have your medicine on an empty stomach,” you urged, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sticky substances in the bowl. When Minho pouted, unsure where this brattiness was coming from, you could only roll your eyes and sigh in defeat.

You stood up to sit on the edge of his bed instead, giving yourself better access to him. Taking a spoonful and tapping it by the edge of the bowl, you moved your body forward and stopped the spoon right before his mouth, muttering something about being careful of the heat.

“You know you’ve got hands that can move, right?” You complained, stirring the porridge again.

“I just wanted you to feed me, is it really that hard?” Minho groaned, “I’m really tired, (Name)!”

“Well, I am doing it right now, aren’t I?” You said, bringing the spoon to him, “Say ‘ah’!”

He suppressed a smile, complying with your patience as you fed him the porridge. The annoyed creasing of your forehead gradually faded into concentration, waiting, and making sure he was fed well. You did it exactly how your mother used to do it when you were younger, but instead of you asking for food to be fed to you, your mother was the one who insisted you don’t do anything.

Neither of you said anything. It was all just the spoon hitting against the bowl and the occasional blowing you did on the hot porridge that was getting cooler by the second. The silence gave Minho the time needed to think. He was much calmer than he was before, back when his mother was talking to him and you were out causing a ruckus, and he’s got a clearer head to reflect on everything that has happened.

It just felt like such a waste of time. His thoughts, his ideas, his research, his preparations; everything he spent time perfecting just reduced to ashes because of an unforeseen circumstance, one that he couldn’t control. He has nothing to blame but nature, which wasn’t tangible enough for him to feel like he was _blaming_ something for his failure. And if that was how it would be then he’d much rather blame himself for not hanging on until the end.

But it was all sharp feelings and venom dripping from his heart. Shame and disappointment, failure and incompetence. He couldn’t stop it; how could he stop what his heart produces? He runs on it. If it stops, he stops, so he chose pain over nothing.

You paused your movements when you saw tears rolling down his cheeks. He started sniffling, crying, quietly and freely. Somehow you could sense this happening, you did see his eyes reddening as seconds went by, but you hadn’t thought about what you would do at a time like this. What should you do? Anything to keep him distracted or nothing so he could let it all out at once?

You didn’t stop feeding him the porridge, but you had changed up the pace of giving him food and wiping the tears from his face using your fingers. He crying intensified at your gentle touch. He had spent so long crafting himself to be this undamageable being because he had expected to be injured one way or another; the unfathomable concept of human delicacy at the wake of his vulnerability broke him.

You waited patiently as usual, for him to eat and for him to cry until the bowl was wiped clean and you have to put it back on the tray. Taking the glass of water that was already cool, you hummed, “I should probably get another glass. I’ll get you something warm to drink down the medicine with.”

“No, it’s okay,” Minho shook his head and reached over to your hand so he could take the pill and the water. His crying has ceased by now, but his puffy eyes a harsh reminder of the gentle breakdown he had just experienced. “Stay here with me.”

You stayed, watching him gulp down the water like he hasn’t drunk anything in years. And somehow, you thought this should be the time to bring what you and his mother talked about up to him. Putting a hand on his leg, you sucked in a breath and asked, “So, Minho… do you still dance now?”

He choked on his water, his eyes widening and then narrowing at your sudden question. He pulled the glass away from him, droplets rolling from the surface of his lips as he denied with a questioning noise, “What–no!”

“Oh, wow, you are more defensive about this than I thought you would be,” you muttered under your breath, “Were you bad at it? Your mom told you were good but I can’t really trust her with the biasing opinion going on, you know? And I forgot ever seeing you dance before, hip-hop boy!”

“Jesus–I’m not telling you anything about that,” he shook his head, placing the glass of water down on the nightstand, almost slamming it because of your unbelievable question.

“Okay fine, I have videos anyway,” you shrugged, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked on it a few times, puckering your lips for comedic effect, “I asked your mom for it and she sent me a ton of them–“

“Oh my god, no!” Minho reached out for your phone, only to have you stand up from the bed with a sinister laugh. He was just about to rise from the bed and tackle you with his heavy body, but he caught you you glancing up at him from the screen with a deadpan look, and he stopped. “What?”

“I lied, I haven’t asked her for anything yet but I will soon,” you said, “I thought she said you really liked dancing, why are you so embarrassed about it?”

He sat back and leaned against the pillow, squeezing his eyes right as you recalled the older days when he would feel so accomplished just having the spotlight shine on him up on stage. Heaving a sigh, he shrugged, “I did love dancing. I just… I just stopped doing that now and I think I kind of lost it.”

“How do you know if you don’t try dancing now?” You exclaimed, moving over to the nightstand and dropping your phone down on the nightstand. Minho could only hear the tune playing after a while when you suddenly started to spin and twirl.

“I’m probably bad–what are you–what are you doing?” He said between puffs of laughter, his eyes unable to move away from your swaying body as you hummed the song under your breath.

The smile physically could not leave his face as he watched your terrible movements; his dancer-brain was registering how bad your style was but his lover-brain was much more overwhelming with how he found your presence endearing to be around.

“Dancing, jamming to songs,” you replied in a sing-song manner, moving from one end of the room to another. “You were saying?”

“I said I’m probably bad at dancing now,” he said, “Kind of like you are.”

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Offended? Slightly, but he was true. You were horrible at dancing, you’ve got two left feet and you couldn’t distinguish between left and right when you danced. But the fact that you sucked at it didn’t bring you down. It wasn’t like you ever have to perform in front of people anyway! There is no routine, no beat to match up, no eyes judging you.

You are dancing for yourself when you dance badly because that is the only time you are allowed to dance badly. And that alone is good enough for you.

“Oh, please,” you stopped on your spot to look at him, pointing at him as if to give him a lecture, “I’ll have you know that the bad dancing is the best kind of dancing. It’s when nobody is watching you and you feel the freest.”

“But I am watching you right now,” Minho argued, pointing at himself.

You hummed. You almost forgot about that, or perhaps you didn’t. Your mind just didn’t care if he was watching or not, it wasn’t afraid of what Minho would say because you knew he would never give you criticism with the intention to harm. It would be playful, witty, a pain in the ass kind of comment that you could deflect immediately with a funny glare.

“Right,” you muttered, “You are.”

Ever heard of the term ‘dance like nobody is watching’? It is always much easier said than done, isn’t it? Dancing has always been about expressing, to move in a way that allows your body to breathe and your heart to burn. It is unlike any other sport where you are either good or bad; it is subjective and intimate because of how artistic its expression is. And it takes a great deal of courage to show it to somebody else, freely, without a doubt.

You, (Name), just found someone who makes you dance like nobody is watching. 

You smiled at Minho softly, closing in on the bed and getting on top. He raised a brow at you as you straddled his lap, looking at him with determined eyes as you asked, “Was my dancing that bad?”

He thought for a second before he nodded, “Yeah, super.”

“Now that I’ve shown you my dancing, would you show me yours?” You asked, “When you get better, of course.”

He nodded again, “Sure, if you want to.”

“Good,” you smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Still tired,” he said, “But better.”

Minho stared at you when your eyes moved up to his head, and when your hand reached up to fix his bangs again, he felt closer to you. It was so weird; he was just laughing and you were just dancing, and now you have set yourself on top of him with your fingers drowned in his locks and all he could do was stare while feeling like he could part oceans and move mountains for you.

He grabbed ahold of your hand and gently pulled you forward towards him. Your faces were close now, inches apart, and breathes mingled. You could feel the brush of his lips, ghosting over yours, and your heart jumped up to your ear where the thumping begins rashly. And his eyes were beautiful, visible, with pools of stars where your face was imprinted on top drowning within.

This has never happened to you before, you were too stunned to react. But your heart knew that it needed to melt for you to understand, for you to see how deeply Minho was in love with you because it could feel it. The heart could always feel it; even if it deceives you with the surface sometimes, its rooted truth will always come back to you.

“Minho…?” You called out, timidly and softly.

For the split second, Minho remembered how back then when he wasn’t ready to love and love wasn’t ready for him.

How miserable he used to be compared to who he has turned himself into now, his effort not going to complete waste in the face of your acceptance and willingness to forgive. How exhausted he used to be when all he has in mind was work and when he had to pretend to be in love, and now it comes so easily to him, it is natural and daily. How he wanted to do so many things with you now, like traveling or trying new food or sleeping on the same bed together.

“Would you let me kiss you?” He asked in a whisper, his hand tightening around yours because the proximity was driving him crazy. “After I get better.”

You giggled, nodding while you moved to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose instead, “Yes.”

“And you can give me the ring back?” You asked, grinning down at him. And you thought that soon, soon your palpitating heart would become such a normal way of life that you wouldn’t even notice it when it starts to pick up its pace at the sight of Minho.

He nodded, breathing out a chuckle, “Of course.”

Minho is ready to love now, so are you. And love? Love is ready for both of you as well.

* * *

Wouldn’t it be the worst thing to find out you forgot your lunch at home after hours of anticipation for lunchtime to roll over? Wouldn’t it be the worst thing, Minho? Yeah, who told you to leave home in such a hurry this morning? Not only did you forget to bid (Name) farewell, you left your lunch right on the counter as well.

“Who the fuck–“ he cursed under his breath as he looked up at the ceiling of his office, his brows furrowed in annoyance. His mood already went down drastically after realizing he couldn’t find his lunch anywhere in his office, he did not need his inner voice insulting him like that as well.

Looking around his desk, he pouted slightly before he stood up. He grabbed his car keys from the drawer, deciding to check his car and hope that he would find it in there somehow, and headed out. If there was no lunch in the car then he’d just have to grab some food at a nearby restaurant, which was something he hasn’t done in some time since you have started preparing his lunch.

I would save you some time and tell you straight-forwardly that you wouldn’t find your lunch in your car but you didn’t feel like listening to your inner voice so I guess I would just sit back and watch you fumble around with irritated groans leaving your—still—unkissed lips.

Minho slammed his car door shut and locked it by aggressively pressing on the button on the key.

Oh–oh? You think that’s bad? I hope you didn’t forget whose finger was still ringless, Minho.

“Jesus,” he puffed out a string of air, putting his hands on his hips and eyeing up at the sky suspiciously. First day back at work after recovering from the fever and waiting to make sure it went away and he’s hearing random voices in his head, sending him personal attacks?

After making the promise of kissing you when he was healed up, he never found the right time to actually do it. Most of the time, the moment was either ruined by best friends calling your phone or housekeepers knocking on the door, or the timing was awkward. And both you and him would be left dry and red from embarrassment and not getting your first, genuine kiss. 

He shook off his thoughts as he walked back into the building. The air-conditioning blasting against his skin as he walked through the lobby.

“Minho!”

He froze on his spot. That was his father’s voice, he could recognize, obviously. Why was he calling him? Maybe he should keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear anything, the classic method. He wasn’t ready to see his father yet, especially after what happened at the gathering. Before he could even think about an escape plan, his name was called again, and he was forced to turn around and confront his anxiety this time.

“Hey, dad,” he greeted calmly, dipping his head politely as he did so.

“Are you feeling better now?” His father asked after a moment of thought.

Minho nodded, “Yeah. Much better. Thank you for asking.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. This tension started growing as he did until at a certain age, it just got so obvious that it became impossible for Minho to ignore the fact that it was hard for him to communicate with his father just as father and son anymore, and the tension stayed until now. It was unlikely that it would fade until his father started growing older significantly, leading the cycle to bounce backward.

His father cleared his throat and looked away as if he had done something wrong, which he had, but he was here to fix it now. “Back at that night when you fainted, I originally said I wasn’t going to give you a chance to pitch your idea again because of what happened during the gathering,” he started, “But… uh… (Name) gave me your project materials and told–demanded me to look over it.”

Minho let out a questioning noise, his brows raising in surprise. Seeing his reaction, his father laughed with an approving nod.

“They made quite the commotion, actually. Ran in front of the car to stop me from leaving,” he said, “But they got me. I read through the materials and they were right, it is too good of an opportunity for me to let pass.”

“Huh?” Minho blinked at his father, his head leaning forward slightly in confusion. He was still trying to process what his father just said about you running in front of a car, and here he was getting his hopes up by talking as if he would be given another chance.

“I’ll let you have it this time,” his father said, “If you can present the idea again at the weekly meeting then we’ll consider it together.”

The hope in Minho soared when it became a reality. His lips slowly quirked into a smile, trying not to act too childish in the face of a second chance. He could freely pump his fist and celebrate when he gets time alone later, for now, he needed to keep a straighter face and accept the chance granted to him. He nodded, “Yeah, of course! Thank you, dad!”

Casting his eyes behind his father for a moment, Minho was able to catch sight of you looking lost outside the building, much to his surprise. The joy in his heart died down for a moment as he squinted his eyes to look better, and when his father too turned around to look at what he was seeing, he laughed.

“Oh, that’s (Name),” he pointed, “What are they doing here?”

Minho placed a hand on his father’s shoulder as he brushed past him to walk towards you. You seemed to have noticed him when he did, your face brightening when you saw him walking towards you at a quick pace. The little excitement dimmed when it felt like he wasn’t slowing down his pace even though the distance between you both were closing rapidly, and you tilted your head in confusion until he was within reach and suddenly engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Oh–yeah, I got your lunch, dummy,” you giggled as you reached one hand around his shoulder to pat his back, “You don’t have to be this happy about it, you know?”

“You never told me you talked to my dad about my presentation,” he said when he pulled away, an excited beam permanent in his eyes as he grinned down at you like a child. “He said he looked over my stuff and he gave me another chance to present it at the end of this week.”

A chuckle left your lips, a relieved one. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought about that night after it happened, considering you have been spending all the time with Minho, and the bickering and chattering you two did often get your mind off everything else but him. It was probably better that way anyway, it saved you the trouble of worrying. Hearing the good news now was quite a surprise, but you were quick to give him a wide smile.

“That’s great! Do you remember what you have prepared before?” You asked, punching his arm lightly.

Minho laughed, “No but I’ve got some time to prepare.”

“Oh good,” you said, then you suggested, “You know you can practice it on me, right? I might not know what you’re talking about but I can give you presentation pointers.”

He looked down at you, tilting his head and nodding in approval. Why did he think to do that before when he was first preparing for it? It wasn’t like you were really reading the book in your hands anyway, he should have taken the opportunity to ask you for some criticisms. “Don’t go easy on me then,” he shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes at him, a sign that screamed something along the lines of “like hell I will.”

“Oh, and thank you for bringing me my lunch,” he said, holding the box in his hands, “Do you wanna have lunch together since you’re here?”

“I can’t, I told Changbin I was gonna hang out with him today,” you said, your voice lowering timidly because you completely forgot to mention that to Minho. If he hadn’t forgotten his lunch box, you would have texted him about this and waited for the possible tantrum he would give you for ditching him the whole day. “We’re getting dinner today too so I might be back later than usual.”

The frown on Minho’s face was hard to ignore; his forehead creasing and his lips quirking down in an annoyingly attractive way. He wasn’t mad, though, just a slight hint of irritation that you would be spending the whole day, likely a very fun day, with Changbin while he has to be stuck at work and hearing nothing from you. He felt a little left out, which was weird because he just spent four days straight with you, stuck at home and wasting the hours away.

Perhaps he was being just a little bit possessive, so he planned to just let it go. He could hear about your day at the end of it when you get back home and pace around in his room telling him about everything in an animated way. Let’s hope you stay in his room overnight this time because oh, Minho, your progress was not looking so good.

No kiss, no ring, and still have not slept in the same bed yet. Baffling, absolutely baffling.

“Are you mad?” You asked when you saw him glare at the ground. “I can come back for dinner if you want me to.”

“No, I’m fine,” he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke with closed eyes, “It’s just… I keep hearing things today, it’s weird. It’ll probably go away tomorrow or even later today… god, I hope it is later today.”

“Hearing things?” You raised a brow at him, looking away and looking back. Then you laughed, “Did you go someplace haunted? Are you thinking maybe it’s a ghost?”

“Funny, (Name). If I get possessed, the first soul I am taking is yours,” he said, feigning amusement.

“I’m joking. Maybe you are still feeling a little tired from the fever? It’s unlikely but honestly, what’s not possible at this point?” You mumbled the last part to yourself, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “Drink more water and take care of yourself, okay?”

Minho nodded with a smile, covering your hand with his own and pressing it to his cheek just for the sake of having you close. The same white background descended back upon you two, the one that drowned out everybody else and where time worked differently than reality. Aside from that, this fantasy background was also a very good backdrop for a kiss scene so maybe one of you would want to take the first step and give the other a farewell kiss.

“I will,” he said, “I need to go back now. Just because my dad owns the company doesn’t mean I get to slack off.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, I figured.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight,” he muttered.

And very casually, even though he felt like his insides would explode any minute, Minho leaned his head down and captured your lips for a very brief moment. He pulled away almost immediately after kissing you as he just touched a sacred land he wasn’t worthy enough to put his claim on yet. When he saw those wide, fascinated eyes of yours, he only fell deeper into the shy hole he dug for himself on the spot.

“Was that bad?” He asked, “Was that weird?”

You laughed, snapping out of your trance and quickly shaking your head. You squished his cheek, your fingers weak from the chaste kiss but you needed something to do. “No, it was fine, maybe a little unexpected but it was fine,” you told him.

Yeah, that did nothing to comfort him. He could only feel the shyness growing in his chest as he stood next to you longer. Bringing his hands up to his chest, where the bento box was pushed against, he uttered out a string of words that you could faintly piece together as a farewell before he turned around and left for the building.

Ah, no good, no good! Minho stopped on his track and breathed in deeply to cool himself. He probably should not have done that, now his mind was going to be completely occupied by you for the whole day! The feeling of your soft lips, the light medicinal taste of your chapstick, the way your noses brushed against each other, how you tightened your grip on his jaw in a moment of surprise—everything! Oh, he would miss you the whole day too if that was the case.

And he would definitely love to see you earlier tonight. Maybe he should speak up about you having dinner with Changbin.

Looking up, he headed over to the reception table and asked the staff behind the table to hold onto his lunch box for him before he quickly left the building once again in hopes you catch up to you, wherever you went after he left. Reaching into his pocket and dialing your number, he pressed his phone to his ears just in time to find you standing around the corner of the street near the road. He hummed, shifting his eyes to find that Yuna was next to you as well.

The closer he got, the more his brows furrowed. You two didn’t seem to be having a very decent conversation and he could almost hear Yuna’s screaming voice from where he was walking. He picked up his pace then, concerned about what could have possibly happened between the five minutes of you and him separating by the company doors.

You could not hear a single word she was saying. It was all gibberish to you despite you trying to listen to your fullest capability, but you had a sense of what she was trying to say. It has got to be something about Minho. She would never willingly pick a conversation with you unless it was about him, unfortunately. Yuna genuinely seemed like a nice girl, a little spoiled and too obsessed, but she wasn’t evil.

You planned to give her the space to vent as much as she wanted before talking to her, but you didn’t know that your utter silence only infuriated her more. Growling under her breath, she glared her wide eyes at you, and, abruptly, she shot her arms forward and gave you an unexpected shove. You cursed at the impact, your back hitting against the lamppost and causing you to stumble away. Your feet met the curb of the pedestrian street and you yelped when you slipped off the street and fell on the road.

Moments like these are hauntingly familiar. You have seen it more times than one, like many other moments you have experienced in this world. The two big words ‘car crash’ engraved in your head, whispering and shouting at you to get up your goddamn feet because five seconds later or so, a car with either a careless driver or a broken brake would come beeping at you. Quickly, (Name)! Move! Get up!

Minho was running towards your direction now, feeling slightly relieved that you started to scramble back up on your feet, but that breath of fresh air quickly choked on his throat when he heard those loud car honks coming from the other side of the street. His heart jumped at the pace of his feet, rapid and piercing, as he ran down the street to where you were.

Questions zapped through his mind: should he grab you back to the street? Should he tackle you both to the other side? Should he shield you from the impact? Any way would be fine as long as you only get a scrape of the knee out of it, really, but which one would work at such a short period?

The were tire screeches, a few honks crashed, and then there were screams from people.

The push at your side was strong, like back when you were younger how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. It has the intention to push you away. You got up from the ground, a pained sob escaping your lips when you saw that both your palms were scraped and bleeding.

“No,” you huffed out, tears already welling in your face.

If you were fine, then it would mean that—

Ignoring the help from others, you turned around without bothering to stand up, and your eyes widened in the glistening of tears when you saw the blood rolling down the side of his head.

—Minho wasn’t.

* * *

After the doctor bandaged your hands and did some checkup on you to make sure you have sustained no more damage from the fall, you were glad to hear that they would take up the responsibility to call Minho’s parents instead.

You really could not find the energy to talk to anyone about anything—perhaps you would give Yuna an ear-full about what happened but she was gone by the time you got picked up by others around the scene. Tears kept falling down your face when you were getting treated, and the doctor in charge stopped asking you if she was hurting you anymore. It was obvious that your concern laid on someone else.

How did this happen? You always thought you would be so agile and so smart during emergencies. The cold water of truth once again splashed down on you, reminding you that just because you think you’d be cool doesn’t mean you would be when your thoughts turn into reality.

This isn’t the law of attraction, you can’t manifest the car away and you sure as well can’t manifest peace.

You sighed, your lashes wet and your under-eye pained from all the rubbing. It had to happen this way, didn’t it? The car crash was, unfortunately, essential in your drama. If it wasn’t the kidnapping, it if wasn’t the psychotic mother, if it wasn’t even the love triangle, then it would be the goddamn car crash. And as usual, it was infuriating and you wished it hadn’t happened.

It wasn’t that you minded the car crash (you would like to not see it as a plot device so often, though). You just hoped it hadn’t been Minho who got hit because he cared enough to save you from it. And now you were left here, sitting in the hospital lobby and being haunted by all the gut-wrenching components of a drama car crash.

Broken hands, broken legs, brain dead, blindness, mute, deaf, paralyzed, coma, a sudden discovery of cancer, a sudden discovery of related bloodlines, a sudden discovery of a terminal illness—you squealed under your breath as you went down the list, approaching the most common trait of them all.

Amnesia.

Sure, dramas usually have this rule where all you needed to endure was one to two months of hardships where Minho would revert to hating your guts, and then he would either fall in love with you again or you would give him the magical kiss of memory revival and he would suddenly remember your past together.

But those are often so unpredictable! You have watched hundreds of dramas that spin down several different lanes, and all of them have left you heartbroken one way or another. And by now you have learned how much different it would be for you to have to experience such events by yourself! If you could cry so hard because of what those pixelated people are going through, how would you begin to cope with experiencing it yourself?

A sob forced itself up to your throat, your chest sustained the pain of holding it in for too long it felt like you swallowed too many things at once, it felt like you were suffocating. You were afraid. So far, you have skated through every event with a very humorous coping mechanism, one that never does any long-term help. But this was different, this could last forever.

No, this wasn’t supposed to be the forever you experience.

You two have just begun, you two were just starting to love each other loudly and happily. You haven’t had enough yet, you wanted more time! The gate to Heaven shouldn’t be allowed to close itself at people’s faces!

“Hello? Excuse me?”

You looked up at the doctor standing in front of you and immediately stood up, wiping your eyes on cue even though you had passed the point of crying and ceasing the chaos in your head. “Yes! How–how is Minho?”

“Good. He only got a few fractured ribs, a bad concussion, and a badly scraped forehead. He didn’t suffer any damage to his internal organs and there are no signs of internal bleeding,” the doctor explained, “He just needs to rest for now, but I estimate that he will wake up sooner than expected. You can wait in his room if you want to.”

You heard everything she said crystal clear. You even went so far as to repeat it in your head. Fractured ribs and concussion, ouchie but at least there wasn’t any internal damage that always sounded so life-threatening. This should be great news, but why did it sound so suspicious to you?

“Really? You are sure, doctor?” You asked, “He didn’t like…lost his eyesight or paralyzed or… I don’t know, cancer? Amnesia?”

“This is a car crash, I don’t think it will cause him cancer, first of all,” she replied calmly. If she was annoyed at your stupid questions, she was trained well not to show it on her face. “And no, we did all the scans. There is nothing else, I assure you.”

“But I swear I saw blood back then, what does that mean?”

“He scraped his forehead when he fell. We did sutures on the wound, which is going to leave him a scar but we can try to minimize it as best as we can,” she said.

Huh, bummer. Maybe I should order another car crash.

Yeah, now wasn’t the time. My apologies.

You thanked the doctor quickly then, wanting to do nothing more than to see him. But before you could leave, she held you back and shifted through her pocket for something she intended to give you.

"The paramedic stopped me and told me to give this back to Mr.Lee when you guys went in, but I assume it is yours?” She said as she pulled out a dark blue velvet box and handed it to you.

It was a ring box, with your ring stored securely in it. You felt a rush of tears piling at your eyes again but you held them down and nodded, “Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s still for me.”

“Pretty sure it will. He wouldn’t buy you a ring if he didn’t care enough to jump in front of a car for you,” she shrugged, “His room is right around the corner, you can ask the nurses around.”

You bid her goodbye then, watching her rush away as her pager beeped. Then you returned your attention to the ring. It was almost funny to you, the way you went from not wanting to wear it because it was so bloody expensive and because you didn’t use to love Minho, to wanting nothing else on your finger because this was the only thing your fourth finger was supposed to hold.

You took it out of the box and slipped it on, admiring the way it still fits perfectly around your finger. You became his and you would always be from now on; wearing the ring is an act of taking a physical vow.

Clasping the box shut, you put it in your pocket carefully before heading to where the doctor pointed you.

* * *

This was painstakingly familiar, Minho thought as he opened his eyes once again to welcome the flood of nausea and ugly ceiling lights. He hasn’t been in the hospital for a long time but he could tell he was in one from the saturated smell of alcohol and the overall sickly atmosphere. Shutting his eyes immediately after waking up, he groaned hoarsely as he recalled what events led up to this moment and realized he would have to be bedridden once more.

What a shame, you would have to take care of him again—hey, hold on a second! Where were you?

Minho snapped his eyes open, panic overwhelming the revolting weight laid atop of his body and brain. He did push you out of the way, right? He remembered he did, but he couldn’t be sure if you both were lucky enough to not have a second careless driver grace the crossroad. Or what if you bumped your head too hard on the ground and gained a bad concussion? Or what if he didn’t push you far away enough for the car not to hit you?

He turned his head over to the door, wanting to call for a nurse and ask them millions of unprepared questions, but he stopped in his tracks abruptly when his gaze shivered downwards and he found you sleeping with your head on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t even registered the feeling of his hand being held by yours, the pulse oximeter and the IV on his left arm had taken away most of his sense of touch.

Calming down, Minho relaxed against the pillows and exhaled in relief. He would much rather have you here and sleeping in an uncomfortable position than laying on a bed with a heart monitor beeping next to your bed. Lowering his head so he could look at you, he softened at the way your cheek was squeezed against your forearm and the fading redness visible under your once tearful eyes. Oh, how he longed to reach out and touch you right now, the desire was immeasurable.

His mellow eyes trailed over to your hand, the one laying on the side of his legs, and he frowned slightly at the heavy white gauze wrapped around your lower palm. Getting a scrape when he pushed you away like that is likely inevitable; it got the job done, thankfully, he hoped it didn’t hurt you too much. He was promoted to move his hand when he saw yours, the one you had your own pinned down on the bed softly, and it was then when he felt the roughness of the gauze rubbing against his skin as well.

With a grimace, he looked over to where your hands were stacked on top of each other, and he held his breath when he finally noticed the shining diamond sitting prettily on your finger.

You put the ring back on.

The box must have flown out of his pocket when he got hit. He had been taking it with him everywhere recently just in case the perfect timing to give it back to you turns out to be a place where he couldn’t have access to it immediately. Besides, holding the box in his hand had always reminded him of you, and he liked being reminded of you from time to time throughout the day.

It made him feel less jittery, less annoyed at the general things, and it got him excited to return home at the end of the day.

Minho couldn’t think about anything else at the moment; all that flooded his mind was how much more fulfilling it was to see the ring on your finger rather than in the box, how things should have been this way all along, and what it all meant now that you’ve worn it back.

Forgiveness for his aloofness in the past, a firm acceptance of this marriage, and that he has become someone who _can_ be loved by you.

His shaky eyes were filled with droplets, creating a glassy sight in his already glittery eyes. Feeling you stir on your spot, he slowly moved his head up so he could watch you wake from your slumber. Your grogginess went away as soon as you met eyes with him, and instead of an excited squeal or a surprised gasp, the only thing that glossed over you was an immense relief.

Looking at you, Minho breathed out a quiet laugh, one that even you couldn’t hear. He felt your hand around him still, but your grip more secure now. In an attempt to chase the tears away from your eyes, he joked, “Stop frowning, (Name). Your face is gonna get stuck.”

“I’m glad you still remember that,” you laughed, lightly shoving his leg as your voice echoed the room. He gave you a knowing hum as if telling you it would be impossible for him to ever forget the unfunny jokes you liked to tell around the house so much, they were practically engraved in his mind.

Sitting up straighter now, your entire demeanor became gentler. Your senses less alert, your mouth quirked into a permanent smirk, and your fluffy gaze paying a constant focus on Minho. “You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” You asked slowly, propping yourself up on your intertwined hands and smiling brightly up at him.

“No,” he replied.

“Who am I?”

“You are (Name). You have bad humor, you forced pizza down my throat once, and you made me like soap opera,” he said, finding his voice back as more words gradually left his lips. And then he paused for a moment, a dramatic moment where he eyed you lovingly, watching as your brows raised in anticipation. “And I think I might be your husband.”

A joyous sob came in the form of giggle and Minho whined at the strands of tears that danced down your cheeks. He reached out to you, wanting to wipe your tears away for you, but you stopped him and told him not to move. Instead, you got up from the chair and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so you two could be closer at face level.

You slipped your arm under this head and the other reached to cup his jaw. You kissed his forehead, once and twice, then you pulled away just enough for you to look at him fully. Ah, you were so filled to the brim with affection for him; it was so new to you but so real the same time that you were not afraid of diving headfirst into it.

“I think you are my husband,” you whispered with a small nod.

He smiled, “Thank you for having me again.”

You gave him a smile before leaning down to kiss him again. This time you didn’t stop at his forehead. Your soft lips trailed down his eyes, his nose, his cupid’s bow, and before you could kiss him on the lips as you had always wished, you pulled away with a puff of nervous breath. You stared into his eyes, feeling the same longing in the way his hand found your wrist and he held onto you.

What are you waiting for, (Name)? For permission? For him to get better? Go on, kiss him.

You two will be fine, you won’t hurt each other.

Pressing your lips against his tentatively, you felt a rush of adrenaline racing around your lungs. It made you feel hypersensitive, like a supernatural who could hear and see and feel beyond the human spectrum—the forced nudge of your noses, the beating in your ears, the softness of his lips, your quickened breathes, his soft locks flowing between your fingers, his grip on your wrists tightening to keep you with him.

It was all so overwhelming, the intimacy and the desperation. The emotions came in tiny waves, similar to the way the ocean feels when you stepped your feet on the shore. It drowns you out, it lets you breathe, it drowns you out again. You kiss, you breathe, and you kiss him again. No matter how many times the cycle continues, no matter how many times the seawater brushes past your skin, you get surprised by it and you keep yearning for more.

Your heart was hanging by a thread, any minute now it would leave your chest and land itself straight into Minho’s palms.

Hesitantly pulling away, you kept your mouths close enough for him to still feel you against his lips. He leaned in a little, breathing out a whine that made you realize your heart was already in his hands long ago. Swallowing down a breath, you whispered, “Do you remember, that I love you?”

He nodded, his lashes fluttering as he glanced down at your lips again and back up at your eyes, “I will now.”

Minho’s heart was yours too, long ago, and you’ve come to know that.

* * *

You jolted awake in the middle of the night. Heavy breaths left your lips as you sat up against the arm of the couch. Your heart was beating quickly like you had just run a mile around the track field.

It was nothing like the way you used to be yanked out of sleep. It wasn’t like your head hitting against your desk in a boring lecture, or when you brutally died in a bad dream. This one was different. You were not falling asleep and you weren’t dreaming. It was different in a way that all you saw during your ‘consciousness’ was blackness, paired with a familiar voice you never thought you would hear again.

“Mom?” You whispered as you quickly scanned your surroundings, looking for the sight of your mother.

But you were still in the hospital room. You were sitting on the couch located at the corner of the room, with your phone and leftover takeaway food resting on top of the small table before you. The moon has gone up and the sky has turned darker than night, you glanced over and found Minho sleeping on the bed as he should.

You were back in where you were supposed to be, but your mother’s voice felt genuinely real during your supposed dream. Sitting up straighter and putting your feet down on the ground, you ran your hands through your hair to force yourself into concentration. Why did you jolt awake at your mother’s voice? There should be no reason for you to find her a threat unless you felt like you were being pulled out of this world.

Like you were falling, like you were falling out of this place, like you were leaving this world and back to reality.

“Oh god,” you gasped as you snapped your head up, your eyes wide.

Great, you were finally piecing the puzzle together, (Name). You have exhausted your one near-death experience when you almost got hit by a car yesterday. If Minho hadn’t pushed you to the side and you got hit then things would have been different, but he did and you were still alive. You have reached the limit, which was only one. And if you remember clearly, you woke up in this place, so when you go back home, you would find yourself waking up the same way.

Except this time, you would be alone, and Minho never existed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated under your breath, biting your nails in an attempt to ease out the spiraling anxiety permanent in your head. It was all hitting you too quickly—the near-death theory, the memories you have of your real life, or the lack thereof, feeling like you were being pulled out of your own body, going back to reality, leaving Minho here.

This would be better for you, actually; the anxiety keeps you awake without a problem, the pacing keeps you active and forces your eyes open. It would be later when you find your eyes closing due to the inability to stay awake any longer, that was when things get bad for you because as soon as you fall asleep, you will wake up in a whole different place.

No… no, this could not be. You have just worn the ring, you two have just kissed for the first time. You couldn’t fathom the idea of being separated from Minho and you didn’t want to leave him yet! You never want to leave him ever! There was still so much for you two to do! You needed more time, you and he needed more time!

You were bargaining again. Once was already too much, you know? You can only bargain so many times before God stops listening to you.

“(Name)…?”

“Huh–oh, hey, Minho,” you moved over to him with a smile, “Did I wake you?”

He could see the panic in your eyes and he frowned, “Are you okay? You look tired, (Name), maybe you should get some sleep–”

“I…” your bottom lips quivered.

How long would you be able to hide it before he finds out? How long could you stay awake and act normal for? How would you be able to explain why you always look so exhausted? Minho should know the truth, he deserved to know that you have been hiding something important from him the whole time. Besides, it would be such a shame if you leave him unprepared for your departure.

“I’m not leaving!”

Oh, yeah, yell at me, why don’t you?

“(Name),” Minho grabbed a hold of your hand, his brows furrowed up at you, “What is going on?”

You stayed still to pull yourself together for a few seconds, breathing slowly, and then you looked back at him, “I have something to tell you.”

He could sense to solemnity in your voice and it terrified him a little. You had shown him the large range of your emotions before, from playful to angry to loving, but he has never seen you look so damn helpless before. Tugging at your hand, he kissed your knuckles softly and nodded, “What is it?”

And you tell him, struggling to make your story coherent despite only having the absolute truth escaping your lips. You told him starting from the very moment when you found yourself waking up next to him, and then when you were still figuring out what to do with your past broken relationship, to adapting quickly and blending into this world. Everything up until this point, when you were so close to forgetting where you came from only to have reality forced itself back into your head again.

It was taking Minho a long time to comprehend all the information thrown at him. When it seemed like he was finally done, he moved his eyes over to you and he tilted his head with a sigh, “(Name)… that is a very deliberate joke.”

Right, you should have anticipated a reaction like that. It would be too easy if he brought it immediately. You pulled a face, “It’s not a joke, Minho.”

“Oh, so you are trying to tell me you aren’t from this universe and you aren’t even who you are before you came here?” He said, confusion evident on his tired face and his voice rising as he went on. “You are basically suggesting parallel universes exist?”

“No–I mean, yeah? It could be true?” You shrugged, and then you shook your head, “The point is–I can feel myself leaving this place and I am pretty sure as soon as I fall asleep, my time will be up. I just felt like I should tell you because… well, you deserve to know.”

Despite how serious you sounded throughout your entire explanation, he just couldn’t bring himself to take you seriously. It was too absurd, the whole concept of waking up in another place. Sure, you did suddenly change overnight and you did feel much different than you did before, and there had been certain very subtle hints that could back your point up, but it was not enough for Minho to believe in what you just told him.

“You should go to sleep, (Name), you’ve been really tired,” he said again, trying to persuade you into going back to bed.

Disappointment flashed before your eyes. Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you looked away, unsure what else you could do to convince him. The only thing you were sure about was that you absolutely could not fall asleep, no matter how tired you were. You planned to hang on for as long as you could, and hopefully, Minho would come around and believe you by then.

“I… I am just gonna go take a walk and come back,” you said, smiling faintly, “You should go back to sleep though.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “You can sleep with me on the bed if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You know I can’t,“ you said. Leaning down to kiss his forehead, you moved away from the bed slowly, “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up with breakfast tomorrow morning.”

You closed the door, leaving him alone in the darkroom. Minho pouted, he was thinking too much to be able to just fall asleep now. The fact that he couldn’t just sleep sort of gave him a sense that he was leaning towards believing it and he was just in the stage of denial. If he really thought it was a joke then he should have no problem brushing it off, right?

Would you really leave? Just like that? More importantly, would he be able to tell if you left?

He leaned back against the pillow, his fingers grasping at the air and his head filled.

* * *

"Did you sleep?”

“They didn’t,” Changbin replied casually as he slammed a plastic bag on top of the table. Leaning down and proceeding to take out the takeaway food, he handed you a small box of food and looked up at Minho again, “They were up the whole night.”

“Did you seriously stay up the whole night?” Minho asked, brows furrowed at the unexpected visit by Changbin. He wanted to ask why he decided to tag along with you, but he figured it was much more important to know what happened with you last night.

“I did, Minho,” you sighed, shoving the chicken into your mouth and moaning at its delicious taste.

After realizing it would be almost impossible for you to stay awake on your own, which was such bullshit because you swore you used to have the ability to pull all-nighters like it was nothing, you ended up calling your last resort—Seo Changbin. Feeling bad that you had to wake him up in the middle of the night, you gave him the same explanation you gave Minho, and like your husband, he was extremely reluctant to accept it.

But you weren’t sleeping at all. And while Changbin had the suspicion that you were just taking this 'joke’ a little too far, he decided to humor you for the night and stayed up with you. And you spent the night over at his home, doing anything and everything to keep yourselves from falling asleep.

“Didn’t they tell you about the story?” Changbin asked, popping open a can of soda and looking at Minho as he drank. “I still don’t believe it but (Name) was so hell-bent on not sleeping, I might just believe them at this point.”

“What–Changbin, I thought you believed me!” You whined, punching his behind and shoving him to the side.

“If I come over and tell you I’m not actually me and I came from another dimension or whatever, would you have believed me?” Changbin retorted, rubbing the spilled drink off his chin.

“I don’t have to because first of all, I met you for the first time at the shopping mall and I know nothing about the old you,” you pointed out, “Second of all, I am going through it right now. I am telling you, if I fall asleep, you will never see me again.”

“You don’t have proof that you aren’t you, (Name),” Minho chimed in, sighing in defeat as he slumped back against the bed.

Changbin pointed at you with wide eyes then, nodding in agreement. Sitting up from the couch, you turned your head to find Minho grimacing at you, and you heave a sigh. Proof. Where the hell would you find the proof to explain that you are who you are? Identity isn’t a tangible thing, no amount of paperwork can shape it for you.

“Look, I am telling the truth, alright? Or at least I am saying what I know,” you said as you grabbed a box and headed over to the bed. You handed the food to Minho, who refrained from throwing a mini tantrum the way he did before due to Changbin’s presence. Sitting down on the chair you had also pulled over, you sighed, “Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t want to take the risk and sleep.”

You looked at Minho, your brows raising slowly to display a vulnerably honest expression. No malice was hidden behind your eyes, your gaze only directed at him, “I don’t want to leave you, Minho.”

His munching halted. He could feel a hint of unease at the bottom of his stomach, possibly due to what you said and the soft way you said it. As if you were afraid, cautious. Lowering his hand, he inhaled, kind of wishing his inner voice would kick him in the head and give him a little nudge to the right path.

But really, what more was there left to say, Minho? (Name) has said all they could.

“You are not going leave me,” he muttered.

You shook your head, “Not consciously, no.”

Minho pursed his lips. Think carefully; for him to convince himself of what you said, he has to nitpick the past and the present, like separating different colored peas with chopsticks.

Starting from the day you met him, you said you have no idea what his name is and you woke up in his bed even though he had this terrible rule of not sleeping together. That was one.

Then you forgot about the marriage, you were surprised by the ring on your hand so much that you even asked him for the price. That was two.

You went into his closet, even when you were banned from touching certain things that were his. That was three.

Asking for a divorce and acting like you didn’t know it was arranged, forgetting that your parents were dead, completely unbothered by Yuna’s presence, suddenly knowing how to cook up a whole meal, eating lots of greasy food, profoundly cursing, playful enough to give him nicknames and make bad jokes.

Aside from that, he could physically tell, now that he thought about it with a clearer head. You were less timid and much louder. Sure, you have your moments of tenderness, but overall you felt much more energized and much happier than before. It was a difference in your presence—you didn’t use to light up the room when you walk into one, but now all Minho could see was you whenever you come into his line of sight.

And that was before he fell so in love with you.

Minho looked up at Changbin, his gaze hardened, “Can you leave us alone for a moment?”

You widened your eyes at his troubled look, then you turned around and urged your best friend away as well, promising to find him later when your private talk ends. Changbin rolled his eyes and unwillingly left, and then it was finally just you and him.

Minho started without waiting, “Let me recap everything. You came here not knowing who I am or what this place is?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “Does this mean you believe me now?”

“Wait–why didn’t you tell me before then?” He asked.

“I thought I would leave soon and return to where I came from. I didn’t expect to stay so long,” you said, “Also, drama taught me it is better to keep my identity hidden.”

Minho rolled his eyes, “So, you suspect that the way for you to go back is through a near-death experience?”

“And falling asleep later,” you hummed, “Dramas taught me this one as well.”

Minho scoffed, “You can’t trust dramas all the time, they’re made up.”

“Yeah, but this feels too much like one for me to ignore it! I mean, look at this,” you pointed at him, smiling bitterly. “Look at you! I would have never been able to snatch a guy like you up if I was back in my world. I was a huge loner, all I did was work and have fleeting crushes.”

He watched as you lowered your arm, your smile dimming significantly. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you love me or who used to be me,” you shrugged, not looking at him. “I am a new person to you now, right?”

Minho licked his lower lip. That problem has never crossed his mind before since it was so obvious that he loved you. His affection was never there, it wasn’t affection for you before. But then he started developing feelings of his own for you, steaming from a threatening turn where he might lose the care and obedience he was used to receiving.

He just used to like being loved by 'you’, now he liked loving you; he liked the mutual feelings you two shared.

“Come here,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

You stood up from the chair and carefully climbed onto the spot next to him. You back hit against the side rail, preventing you from falling off, while Minho pushed his hand against your waist to keep you close to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, a sigh leaving your lips quietly.

“You know, I thought you were funny, back when you first came here,” he said, “A little infuriating, yes, but amusing nonetheless.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you commented, giggling when he cleared his throat and nudged the top of your head with his jaw.

“You could have totally snatched me up even if we are not in this setting,” he said, “You aren’t like other people. You treat me differently.”

Ah, and the iconic line finally decided to make its appearance. I was hoping it’d at least happen once for you to hear it because you would only be able to hear it from Minho’s mouth.

“What do you mean different, I treat you the same way everyone treats you!” You said, suppressing a chuckle.

You weren’t sure if that line had boosted your ego but it sure did make you feel quite special, as cliché as it was, but honestly? As a society, we should all establish that clichés don’t matter.

“No, you were so casual and honest. I think you are the only person who has given me nicknames aside from my old friends back in high school,” he nodded, “And you’re even more different than others now because you are the only person I love, in that special kind of way.”

“What are you, five? Special kind of way, that is lame! ” you exclaimed, laughter escaping in between. When you quieted down, you pressed yourself closer to him and looked up.

He only glanced down when he felt your lips at the side of his jaw. And he kissed you then, leaning his head down eagerly to capture your lips. You were careful with moving around, your hand going up to stop at the nape of his neck, rubbing comfortingly as your mouths danced with each other sensually.

This could never be enough. Minho wanted more than this, he thought as he tugged you closer to him, feeling your chest against his side. This could never be enough. He wanted to do more than kissing you in a hospital bed. He wanted to kiss you under the moon, to kiss you at home, to kiss you during a spontaneous snack run at midnight.

He wanted to eat junk food and get emotional about fictional characters with you; he wanted to see you read books while he worked on the side.

Minho wants you with him, always.

You pulled away, gasping a little at how teary his eyes had suddenly become. You didn’t need to ask why. You could already tell. “Do you believe me now?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to,” Minho let out a shaky breath, “If I do then I will have to accept the fact that you might leave me soon.”

A sobbing noise spiked from the back of your throat as you reached up to peck his lips, “I will try my best to stay awake for as long as I can, Minho.”

He nodded, even though the fact alone broke him, the fact that you two have to settle for 'as long as you can.’

You jolted awake again, this time in Minho’s workroom with a new book held loose in your hands.

You kept the lights on for the sake of having an awake atmosphere even though you knew very well that would do nothing to help your exhaustion. Looking up from the couch, you found it hard to just squint at the clock hanging above your head, but you saw that it was long past midnight already.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch as you kicked your legs in frustration. You were officially three days in, all three days you went without a lick of sleep. And you put in lots and lots of effort to accomplish that, such as eating, doing yoga, shopping, scrolling the internet, and indulging yourself in many new shows filled with more than seven seasons of emotions.

It was painful. Your body felt heavy and your eye bags were probably getting bigger as you went on. Your mind was slow, you zone out too much and you kept dozing off. The only thing keeping you from falling into slumber was the sickening feeling of you astral projecting out of this place.

You didn’t want to cry though. Not only would it make you feel even more exhausted, but it would also make you feel weak, and you didn’t want to feel pathetic that way if you were doing this so you could stay with the love of your life.

Huffing out a groan, you got off the couch and left the room. You were much more familiar with the house by now, you could practically walk anywhere with your eyes closed as long as you knew where you started. You walked down the hallway and stopped abruptly before a pair of doors.

Minho’s closet was as you remembered it was. Black and white, very minimalistic, with clothing racks lining up against the wall. One thing has changed, though, he has opened up a space for clothes you got him from time to time. The ones you thought he would look good in and he occasionally wears around in the house when he didn’t need to be in formal attire.

You flipped through the clothes, remembering where each one of them came from with a smile. It was quite funny as well, to see how the clothes gradually grew to be more accurate in his size with the more you brought.

Pulling a sweater off the rack, you admired the soft material by kneading it between your fingers, then you hugged it close to your chest. You brought the fabric close to your face, inhaling the warm scent you’ve gotten used to smelling on your own clothes as well.

You never tried to look into what detergent the housekeeper used to wash your clothes, but you always thought it had an artificial smell of some type of flower you have never smelt the actual scent of before. It stopped mattering now that you have gotten so accustomed to the smell. It just has the scent of a home, and home is Minho for you.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled out to control your quickened breathing. A sob threatened to break out but you muffled it with his sweater, clinging onto it like it was your life-line.

It has been so difficult for you. Staying awake beyond your limit and trying to smile with everyone else; you couldn’t even tell Minho how you felt when he asked if you were okay because a part of you dreaded that he’d let you go. You felt alone, worrying and fearing for the day you would leave this place.

Standing in his closet and having his scent so close to you pushed you past the breaking point. All you knew was that you wanted to stay with Minho, and knowing how sleep would be inevitable made you cry.

The past three days have only been about that. You couldn’t afford to think about anything else.

You stood there alone and sobbed for as long as your body allowed. When you were done, you dropped the sweater on the rack and took off your own just so you would wear it.

It felt warm, big and warm, just like Minho.

You felt another sob bubbling up.

* * *

Minho could tell you have been crying when you arrived to visit him for the night.

It has become increasingly difficult for him not to notice how worn out you were, not to mention having to neglect it and pretend as if nothing was happening. Although you were the one who was so determined to keep yourself in this place, and of course, he too wanted you to stay here, he couldn’t help the gruesome guilt that rips through his veins whenever he sees that defeated state of yours.

You were dozing off on the couch again. He could somehow feel it whenever you’ve got your eyes closed, it was like a tingly sense that shoots down his spine. Even then, he always looks over to check if you are, and you were this time, your chin squished against the base of your palm with your elbow propped up against the armrest of the couch. You were dozing and waking, an indefinite cycle that would only stop until you reach the point of insanity, he supposed.

When this first happened, when he first saw you with your eyes closed and unresponsive, he used to have this knot in his stomach that would tighten harshly in a way that makes him hallucinate pain. The fear used to make him want to throw up, it used to make his face go red and his fist curl until the nails dig deep into his skin. It feigns an anxiety attack for him, and God knows how to properly handle those.

“(Name)!” He repeatedly called for you, feeling the knot inside of him release its chokehold slowly the longer he has to call for you. But you woke up eventually, your body falling to the side and the sudden impact yanking you out to sleepiness.

You looked around and heaved a sigh, whether it was a relieved one was uncertain to everyone, including you. Turning over to look at Minho, you tilted your head and asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

Your posture was terrible, like usual but much worse now that your shoulders were hunched all over and your neck cranked in longing to take a decent break. Your body was fidgety, a habit you picked up to keep yourself active in movement so you wouldn’t fall asleep. The dark circles under your eyes were starting to get more visible than the smile Minho had always paid more attention, and there was no light in your eyes, just a pit of shadowy doom.

Maybe you were trying your best, but you couldn’t look at him like you love him anymore; your eyes physically could not manifest the affection you felt.

This was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t, you certainly would never blame him for this, but Minho still felt like he was the one putting you through all of this. And he hated seeing you so out of place because you haven’t slept in days, and for what? To get a few more days with him? Honest to God, your mind was barely with him these days anyway.

Minho pursed his lips into a thin line, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. And he shook his head, “You should go to sleep. This is killing you.”

You were quick to turn down his suggestion, “No.”

“Go to sleep, (Name).”

“I don’t want to,” you said, “I don’t want to go.”

“Well, you are going to have to go either way so why not make that earlier?” He asked, raising his voice, causing your defenses to build up quickly in your head.

You stood up from your seat, your eyes wide in a glare for the first time in days, “What the fuck is your problem, Minho? Do you want me to leave so bad?”

“I don’t–“ he breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes to keep his temper low now that yours have been shorter than usual. “I don’t want you to leave. If I get to choose, I will always choose to have you stay here with me, but look at yourself, (Name)!”

You raised a brow, “What?”

“You’re tired, you are so tired. You have been crying, you eat slow, your temper is short, you barely react to anything anybody says. Even the nurse who came in to check up on me this afternoon asked if you are okay because you don’t look okay!” He said, “I love you, (Name), so much. But not like this. Not when you are so miserable because of me.”

If his existence is causing you pain then he’d rather not have it. As selfish as he wanted to be, he would choose to let you go.

Your arms dropped to your side and you rolled your eyes up. You have told him the same thing before. God, you felt like one of those female leads who cry every single episode, it was so enraging. Everything you have sought to not become, you’ve become it.

Minho moved to the side on his bed, leaving you a spot, and he called out, “Come here, (Name).”

You looked back down at him, your sight blurred at the thought of what he meant to do. You were going to walk over, he would wrap you in his arms, and you would fall asleep to his warmth. He would still be here but you would be somewhere else. It would be quick, it would happen before you even know it.

“Come here, please?” He asked again, softly. “Let me hold you.”

You rubbed your eyes and moved over slowly. He helped you as you climbed onto the bed, snuggling up next to his side with your head laid on his shoulder and his arms securely around your torso. He squeezed your arm and breathed out a joking giggle, mentioning something about you getting chubbier and earning a hit on the chest in return.

His fingers shifted through your hair when you looked up at him, and he smiled down at you like nothing was going wrong. Eyeing his lips once, you didn’t hesitate to reach up for a long, loving kiss, one where your tears were mixed with the taste of his mouth.

When you pulled away, you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said, shaking his head, “This is actually pretty funny since I am the one who got injured but here we are, crying over you leaving instead.”

You laughed silently, bringing him closer to you. Minho has steady breathing but his heart beat quickly. It rattled against your ears, reminding you that he was as nervous as you were about losing each other. Your senses were shutting down slowly, ready to go into rest when you finally gain the sleep your body has been screaming at you to get.

“I’m sleepy, Minho,” you muttered, adjusting your head.

“I know. You can sleep, it’s okay,” Minho hummed, “You can go. I’m gonna be fine.”

You licked your lower lip, the dryness giving you a sticky sensation, “Love them as much as you love me, alright?”

He couldn’t do that. But he wouldn’t tell you, he wanted you to go without any troubles lingering in your head. He wanted you to leave happily, or as happy as you could be.

Kissing your forehead, he felt your breathing ease up. His hand rubbed your back soothingly as he asked, “Will you remember that I love you?”

You didn’t answer.

* * *

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned at the pain oozing at your side. What the hell happened? You could see that you were back in your room, which was weird because the last time you checked, you were on your way to work. You remembered waking up late and rushing out of your apartment, and then everything simply went blank from there.

“Oh, you’re awake! I thought you died or something!”

You sat up on your bed and furrowed your brows at your brown-haired friend—what? You swore Chan had blond hair just two days ago, when did he dye it again? Rubbing your eyes, you yawned and scanned your room, taking in its unfamiliarity with intense suspicion before you turned back to your smiley friend and asked, “Did you move my shit?”

“I just got here, like five minutes ago after your mom called me,” he deadpanned, “I was cooking you chicken porridge! She said you blacked out and slept for three days straight, you sleepyhead!”

“Three days–Chan what?” You got off your bed and headed over to your desk where your phone was. You weren’t sure why you needed to check the time, it held no significance to how you were in deep trouble with your boss for ditching work for three days. “Why did no one wake me?”

He handed you a glass of water first, seeing how frantic you appeared right after waking up in the middle of the day. You received it—snatched it—and quickly gulped down the liquid, feeling a sense of relief rush through you when the water hit your throat.

“We tried but you were knocked out cold,” he shrugged, “If you are worried about work, don’t. I talked to our manager for you already, I even exaggerated the part where you almost got in a car crash and almost died so you needed time to recover from it.”

The water spilled from the glass when you choked in shock. Your brows furrowed harshly as you pulled the glass away, causing more water to flow out of the cup, and you yelled at Chan, “What?”

He gave you a slow laugh, more concerned than annoyed that you’ve made a mess and yelled at him in the past five seconds, “You almost got hit by a car the other day when you left for work. You were looking at your phone and not paying attention, I had to pull you away from the road–did you forget all of that?”

You placed the glass of water down on your desk, rubbing your mouth with your forearm harshly. As you brought your hand closer to your mouth, a painful scratch eliciting a yelp from you. Moving your hand away from your face, your eyes trailed up your arm and they widened when you saw the diamond ring located on your fourth finger. You cursed out loud, gaining Chan’s attention, and when his eyes moved towards what you were looking, he too mirrored your confused look.

“What the fuck is this!” You asked, looking at him.

“Why would I know–did you drunk buy this?” He asked, moving closer to examine the ring on your hand, “You need to return it. You’re crazy, you can’t afford this.”

“I know I can’t afford this,” you exclaimed, glaring at him in defeat, “But I swear I don’t remember ever buying this! Did you see me wearing this when I almost got hit by a car?”

Chan paused for a moment to think. He hadn’t really noticed back then, he was too busy trying to keep your phone-obsessed ass from dying. But if you didn’t have it back then, there should be no way for you to have it now. You could not have possibly gotten drunk within the last couple of days, and you could never buy a ring like that when you were sober.

“Did you steal it from someone?” He suggested, feeling the wrath of your impatience as he stepped away from you in precaution.

“No! I don’t know where this ring came from, Chan,” you said, showing him your hands and grimacing at how perfectly it fit around your finger. “Also, can’t you humor the idea that maybe someone proposed to me?”

“Someone with the money to buy that ring? Uh, no,” he said honestly, putting his hands on his hips in a comical way.

Brushing him off, you slumped back onto your bed with your arm covering your eye, “Whatever. I’ll find out where I got it from somehow.”

“Or you can sell it,” Chan suggested.

You chuckled at the thought. Imagine the amount of money you could get from selling that ring. You did not know about diamonds but you could tell when one looks expensive. Bringing your hand up above your face, you shifted your hand to observe the ring more carefully. A weird sense of comfort rushed through you, making you relax further into your mattress. Coming after the comfort was a very bad sense of nostalgia, one that makes your heart ache for something you couldn’t remember.

“Actually, maybe I’ll keep it,” you muttered, eyes hazy the more you stared at the ring. “I think I want to keep it.”

“Okay,” Chan shrugged at the side. Moving over to your desk, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, “Are you gonna be okay? I need to go back to work, lunch is over for me already.”

You hummed from the bed, nodding, “Thank you.”

He eyed you carefully, nudging your feet with his own to catch your attention, “Are you sure? You are really out of it, which I guess is fine because you did sleep for three days straight.”

“I am fine, Chan,” you rolled your eyes. “Stop nagging.”

He scoffed, but ultimately his voice was soft when he spoke, “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright?”

The nostalgia hit like a rush this time and you held down a flinch. For some reason, Chan didn’t sound so much like him when he said that, but you couldn’t tell whose voice that was. You brought your hand back to your chest and looked up at him, finding him staring back at you with equal confusion.

You sighed. Must just be the car crash you forgot you almost had. Throwing your head back against your bed, you waved your hand at him, “Just go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said, “Call me if you need anything.”

You hummed loudly in response, not bothering to look up at him. When you heard the front door lock, you groaned out a frustrated sigh and turned to your side. It has been a weird couple of minutes; you almost got in a car crash but you forgot, you slept for three days and you had no idea, you got a diamond ring on your hand which you have no recollection of ever getting. 

Not to mention the nostalgia that was lapping at your chest one wave after another. A feeling beyond your imagination, resting against your heart carefully yet it rattles you like nothing ever has. It made your soul tried from chasing something that was hidden deep within your mind, a haunting loss.

You were yearning but for what? You have forgotten but about what?

You brought your hand up and frowned. The ring was heavy on your hand and it would most likely disrupt your sleep.

You didn’t take it off.

* * *

Weeks have passed with the same weight on your shoulders. You have come around to learn how to ignore it, you have learned to distract yourself from it. You work, you hang out with people, you entertain yourself with the media. But even then, the grave mistake you made to not take that promise ring off your finger kept reminding you of the shaking sentiment that often shines at the end of the day.

You have looked through different online shops in hopes to find out where you could have possibly gotten the ring from. It was a long stretch, you knew it would probably take you ages before you could find the actual shop, but the promise of a long-term confusion somehow made you feel assured that you would have an excuse to keep it with you longer.

It has been weeks, though, and your hope was thinning. You were unable to find any matches, even after you personally headed over to the shops and ask the staff to take a closer look. You even went so far as to search for the lesser-known brands that would still make rings with diamonds as sparkly and extravagant as the one you got. Nothing, it was like the ring was custom made, and that made you feel worse about having it.

It must have been really important to the owner, you reckon. It should not be on your hands.

“I feel bad for keeping it,” you spoke to the phone, where Chan sighed on the other side, most likely from irritation. The ring was all you talked about these weeks, aside from occasional work problems and drunken confessions you weren’t afraid to make to him.

“Then sell it.”

“But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Then what do you want to do? I keep giving you suggestion and you keep shooting me down,” he complained with a helpless whine.

“I want you to tell me what to do!” You said.

“I say sell it,” he said.

“I don’t want to sell it.”

“I’m hanging up, I can’t take this abuse anymore,” Chan threatened with a yell of frustration. You could imagine him leaning against his chair and pushing it away from his desk, his eyes squinted into moon-shaped smiles and his nose scrunched up in defeat.

“It’s just… this stupid ring is giving me weird vibes!” You stopped before the road and glancing down at the ring. “I feel kind of sad but also kind of happy when I look at it! Like some sort of deja vu!”

“It’s deja vu, (Name), everyone feels like once in a while,” he said, “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think it is.”

You frowned, Chan was no help at all. From your peripheral vision, you could see that people had started to cross the street, so you followed suit quickly with the intention to not block the road and be yelled at by some caffeine-deprived stranger who hadn’t gotten a lick fo sleep yet.

“Woah! Hey! Watch the fucking road, idiot!”

You snapped your head up. Your eyes first caught the red traffic light and you gasped; you swore you saw someone move next to you, should have looked before crossing the road. Turning around and planning to head back to the pedestrian street as it was a shorter distance than moving across the road fully, you could only take one step before honks blared at your ears.

You jumped out of the way with a scream, missing the car by a few inches. It scraped past you, causing your body to fall back.

Sigh, how did you manage to get yourself stuck in a near-death situation three times, (Name)? I guess the manifestation theory does work; your unknown yearning has caught God’s attention. I suppose I will give you this one, for the last time. Be careful next time, stop getting yourself caught in situations like this anymore.

Minho has missed you a lot too. May you two have a joyous reunion and may you never forget this time.

It was then, at that exact moment when you fell back in slow motion, did the memories came flooding back to you. Arranged marriage, diamond rings, greasy pizzas with bad soap operas, best friends, sleep deprivations, dancing in a room, crying against sweaters, having a first kiss—

“Minho,” you whispered out, your eyes widening for a fraction as the memory of your husband flooded back into your head. How much you love him, how much you miss him, how much you want to see him, and hold him against you once more. The nostalgic finally made sense to you, and it changed to a simple reminiscent now that you understood it.

The screams of others were blocked out from your ears and so were the urgent car honks. You turned your head to the side and saw a truck running down the road towards you and you already know what would happen. This one would kill you, you would close your eyes, and you would leave this place.

You would go back to him.

The corner of your lips quirked up as tears fell from your closed eyes. You smiled when the impact hit you.

* * *

The mesh curtains stayed the same, useless against the sun but pretty with it. The bedsheet was as you felt it the first time, soft and silky yet thick and warm, the ones that make you sleep like you were in a goddamn coma. And Minho was the same as you last remembered seeing him—fluttery lashes, soft brown locks, and naturally pouty lips.

You remembered. Thank god, you remembered.

You pursed your lips into a tight smile to keep a laughing sob from bubbling up your throat. Staring at him, you realized he made you feel the same as you last remembered as well as immeasurable affection pulled at your fingertips, longing for a touch of his gentle skin and to feel him close to you. And you did, unapologetically, you caressed the side of his face with the back of your fingers.

It was a deliberate plan to wake him up, perhaps, but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

Minho stirred in his sleep at the touch. His brows furrowed before he opened his eyes, and when he saw you, his frown only deepened. You (or, well, ‘you’) have never tried to attempt this before and neither has he ever asked for love from them. His mind was occupied by somebody else, someone he thought would never come back to him ever again. Feeling this, having his cheek stroked so tenderly in the morning, was surprising and weird.

“Seriously, Minho, how many times do I have to say this?” You whispered, pinching his cheek slightly, “Stop frowning or your face will get stuck like that.”

A shiver, one that was so strong it felt like a lightning zap, ran down his body. His eyes widened slowly in recognition of the inside joke you two used to throw at each other, and for a moment, he could not believe his ears. His eyes moved across your features, you looked the same as he had always seen you, before and after you left.

But there was one defining difference he could make: the ring on your hand wasn’t there before. You had taken it with you after you left this place.

“(Name)…” he croaked out, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder, gripping it gently.

You nodded with a smile, “The one and only.”

The tears flow freely down his cheeks. It has been extremely difficult for him to revert to his usual lifestyle, for him to have to pretend to be in love again. He had tried to bring himself to like ‘you,’ but it was to no avail. They simply felt different despite looking the same as you. He even went so far as to befriend Changbin as the boy was the only one who knew of what happened, but even then, he was lonely.

He had missed your stupid jokes, he missed the way you could come back home with bags of clothes he rarely has the chance to wear, he missed the food you cook. The little recurring moments he loved with you, he replayed them every night in the room and didn’t dare to allow himself to forget you.

You took the initiative and moved closer to him. Your palm was flat against his cheek now, and after you lovingly nudged the tip of your noses together, you leaned in to give him a long-awaited kiss. He melted against you, against your lips and your hand, with desperation in each curve of his mouth. He felt like he couldn’t let go, he knew he couldn’t let you go this time, never again.

Reluctantly pulling away, your dazed eyes stared right back into his. You touched his face again, smiling. Minho cupped your hand in his, pressing his forehead against yours with a light whisper, “Do you remember who I am?”

You nodded, “Yes.”

“Who am I?”

The sun shone from outside, casting a ray of warmth at an empty ring box located at the corner of the desk.

“You are Lee Minho,” you said, giving his lips a peck, “You _are_ my husband.”

And you remembered, that he told you he loves you, just as you love him. 


End file.
